


Leading Suspects

by katnissdoesnotfollowback (lost_on_cloud_9)



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Domestic Violence, F/M, Mild Language, Minor Character Death, Sexual Content, an obscene love affair with coffee
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-09-25 22:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 72,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9847874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lost_on_cloud_9/pseuds/katnissdoesnotfollowback
Summary: When an old friend in need reaches out to Katniss, she returns to the small town she swore she’d never set foot in again. Help Madge and then leave, she decides. But a murder investigation and one sheriff with stupid blue eyes and dimples all conspire to keep her where she thought she’d never want to be.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Peetabreadgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peetabreadgirl/gifts).



> This piece was loving crafted for my dear friend and beta, PBJ, to celebrate her birthday. It’s based on a book I recently read and immediately had to Everlark because...well you’ll see. The book is Jed Had to Die by Tara Sevic. I am neither Tara Sevic nor Suzanne Collins and thus technically do not own the basic storyline or the characters. This is pure fun. Also, it’s multi-chapter but they will be significantly shorter that my chapters usually are. Enjoy! Love you, PBJ! <3

There are few things a woman wouldn’t do for her one true love in this life. Maim, murder, wreck, and ruin. Because we all know that your one true love is reserved for that singular soul who inspires your heart and then protects it. Strong, dependable, forgiving, amazing. These are the qualities that garner affection. Especially at times when your love reliably comes through to rescue you from a horrible day. Enter Theo.

 

“I love you more than anything, my darling, my one true love. You’ve never let me down. I am hopeless without you.” I tighten my arms and rub my cheek lovingly against him, ignoring the slam of the counter that alerts me to Johanna’s arrival. I’m not ready to let Theo go just yet.

 

“What are  _ things Katniss Everdeen would never say to something with red blood cells _ , Alex?” she says as she drops her bag behind the counter and tosses back what must be the last sip of her morning coffee in a tumbler. She unscrews the lid and thrusts the dark green mug towards me. “Hit me.”

 

“You have terrible timing,” I mutter. “Why do I put up with you again?”

 

“Because no one else understands your love affair with Theo. Now hit me before I murder Paul over there,” she cants her head to the side towards one of our regulars as he sips his coffee.

 

“Don’t mind me,” he says in bliss. “If I go now, I go happy.”

 

With a reluctant sigh, I uncurl my arms and hold Theo towards her to pour steaming, delicious French Press coffee from his belly into Johanna’s mug. “You’re just lucky that I’m willing to share him with you.”

 

“And I will be forever loyal to you for it,” she says as she cradles the mug under her nose and inhales deeply. “Ah, Theo never disappoints.”

 

I roll my eyes at her and turn back towards our espresso machine to get the next batch started. The morning rush will start in a few minutes. Although I can’t argue with her over Theo’s magnificence. Theo would be my Stelton Theo French Press, my favorite that I own. Actually, I own two of him. One for home and one to keep at my business, Daily Fix, which is the result of one flight from a podunk town in West Virginia, four years of robotic dedication to college, and six more years of sweat and tears and kissing up to investors that I’d rather choke with my bare hands. It all paid off, though. I escaped the hell-hole existence of being someone’s obedient old lady in my backwards hometown and instead am now living a good life peddling liquid stimulants to people as dependant on them as Johanna and myself.

 

I focus on brewing the espresso as Johanna converses with another one of our customers. The conversation is short and simple before she moves on to the next one. It’s the heart of what Daily Fix is, not a swanky cafe where poor college kids who know next to nothing about coffee schmooze customers and burn the grounds just so they can afford their overpriced tuition while people pretend they have some sense of togetherness. Daily fix doesn’t have eight person tables and outlets for every electronic device imaginable. It’s a place for people who want their fix and five minutes of peace to enjoy it before they move on with their lives. We are not a lingering sort of joint, which suits me fine because I’ve never been sociable. I mean, I set the tone of my place with the names of our sizes. None of this fancy Italian stuff but something to get the point across on how bad it is.  _ Morning Fix, Nervous Twitch, Pounding Cranium,  _ and  _ Heads Will Roll _ . Simple. Effective.

 

Our mutual love for Theo is one of the many things that just makes Johanna and I work. At first, I wasn’t sure we’d click. When she entered my makeshift office while Daily Fix was still just a fledgling, and I was looking for a manager to help me get the first location off the ground, I didn’t know what to make of her. She stomped around in scuffed up black combat boots, wore a blue plaid skirt short enough to make a matron sweat, and a huge gray sweater that almost made the skirt superfluous. Giant gold hoops in her ears and gold bangles clanking around her wrists. A pair of hot pink, heart shaped sunglasses hiding her eyes. While she sometimes oils her short hair into fierce spikes, that day she’d left it natural, and I had to remind myself it’d be rude to fluff it like she was some kind of sheep. Besides, I’m pretty sure she would’ve bitten me and proved herself to be a wolf had I even tried.

 

Still, she was the only person I interviewed that day who didn’t insist she wasn’t addicted to coffee and focused solely on their credentials to manage a store. I’d been looking for someone who would at least be as passionate about the product as they were about the money. Johanna held up one finger, interrupting me as I asked my first question so she could chug down a massive tumbler of the dark brew. After she’d finished drinking, she smacked her lips in satisfaction, removed her sunglasses, smiled at me, and told me to  _ proceed _ . She terrifies and annoys the hell out me and I would never have made it this far if it weren’t for her.

 

“Kat!” she calls out, and I look over to see that she’s currently serving a man who I’d rather punch than serve coffee to right now. Johanna smirks, though, and leaves me alone with him.

 

“Hey, Kat, babe. I’m gonna need two Nervous Twitch Cappuccinos and one Pounding Cranium dark roast to go. Oh and you never called me back.”

 

“Hi, David. Must’ve slipped my mind,” I say as I ring up his total and mark the cups so Jo can start making his order. She snorts and I toss a scowl at her that does nothing.

 

“Aw, babe. No need to play coy,” he says. “I know it’s been awhile for you. You wanna skip preliminaries and go right for the main event, I’m all for women’s lib. Hold on.”

 

I glance at Johanna as he starts talking loudly on his phone. She rolls her eyes in solidarity with me and I glare at him. What I really want to do is kick him in the nuts, but I behave myself and settle for grabbing my _Anyone caught working will have their coffee confiscated. No refunds!_ sign and slam it on the counter in front of him. He shrugs sheepishly and ends his call, but not before several of our customers give him disgruntled looks.

 

“I’ll see you Friday, ‘cuz I’ve got a great night planned for us. Thanks for the coffee, gorgeous,” he takes his carry out tray from Johanna and I fume. The nerve of him, and worse, the fact that I actually agreed to go out on a date with him in the first place.

 

“It’s called harassment, jerkoff! Shove that coffee up your ass for assuming I’d ever sleep with you! And my name is not ‘babe!’” I hurl at his back, but the door to the shop has already closed. I growl under my breath and slam my hands on the counter in frustration.

 

“Beautiful, babe. But maybe next time, say it to his face?” Johanna suggests. I grab the nearest dish towel and whip it towards her rear, but she scampers away in time to avoid the hit.

 

“You’re not helping,” I say, and Johanna raises her eyebrow.

 

“Oh now I know you’re pissed. Your accent always rears it’s hicksville head when you lose your cool,” Johanna says. I groan and flop down on the counter. Johanna awkwardly rubs my back while I make disgruntled noises. “Why’d you even agree to the first date if you hate him so much?”

 

“Because I wanted him to leave me alone. I figured he’d lose interest after one shitty date,” I moan. Johanna snorts again.

 

At first, David Marvel wasn’t so bad. We talked business and numbers, while he got his coffee, even gave me a few decent tips for starting up other locations for Daily Fix that helped me put together a franchise proposal for my board of investors. We were fine as long we were just vague acquaintances. 

 

Then he made a flippant comment that it was rare for him to meet an exotic beauty who also had business savvy. I wanted to punch him. Given my dad’s heritage and my white as mayonnaise mother, comments like that aren’t new to me, but they always piss me right the fuck off. For weeks after that, he dropped hints, attempted to flirt, and generally made me cringe. But clearly, my brilliant plan has backfired because he’s too arrogant to realize that just because a woman is nice to him, it doesn’t mean that she wants him.

 

Spoiler alert! That woman would be me.

 

“Is he the reason you were hugging Theo this morning?” Jo asks.

 

“No,” I say, pulling myself together as another customer who is not David Marvel walks into our shop. “That was because the board didn’t like my proposals for new locations. They want me to try a different model.”

 

“What?” Jo asks and looks around at the worn, exposed brick walls, the windows with their chipped blue paint frames, the scuffed and repurposed barn wood floors, the mismatched armchairs and the rack of random coffee mugs. “Why mess with something that already works?”

 

“They said it worked for Philly but wouldn’t stand a chance in New York or L.A. That I’m aiming too high.”

 

“Fuck them,” Johanna states quite eloquently and I smile despite myself. “Look if you wanna start up in one of those snotty cities, I say all we gotta do is market it to them the right way. Or they can shove their overpriced Starbucks right up their asses next to the sticks they already got up there.”

 

“Somehow, I don’t think the board will take that as an acceptable business plan.”

 

We continue our work and it isn’t until mid-morning that Jo brings it up again. “When do you meet with them next? Maybe Atlanta or Charleston would be better choices.”

 

“Ugh, no,” I say. “I don’t want to go anywhere near a Southern, everyone’s always in your business city. I left Twelve Willows for that reason.”

 

“Really? ‘Cuz your accent just cropped up again. Also, who the fuck named your town? It makes me think of an antebellum plantation with giant hoop skirts and  _ bless her heart _ on everyone’s tongue.”

 

“You’re not far off,” I joke, but she’s actually not even close. I grew up in a coal mining town. Well, it used to be. When the mines closed down and half the population left for greener pastures, the town was left with a lake and a couple dozen dusty streets lined with boarded up shops. There was never any wealth or sense of gentility. Just a hick town with everyone bored out of their wits to the point that gossip and booze were the primary form of entertainment. I haven’t been back there in ten years and I never plan to return.

 

We shift over to the sink, donning gloves and scrubbing cups. Johanna hands me a turquoise one with brown swirls etched into the surface, the bottom painted with the words  _ Marie’s Curiosities - Yorktown, Virginia. _ I smile and rinse before setting it on the rack.

 

“When I told David about the board’s thoughts, his first suggestion was for me to listen to them. To pick a uniform theme and purchase matching mugs for the new locations,” I tell her.

 

“What?!” She screeches, clasping one with a multicolored mosaic print to her chest.

 

I know them all by heart, each of them lovingly collected from a small boutique shop in every location Johanna or I have visited, the prices haggled down with the help of my special brand of crack -- I’m talking about coffee here -- and the shop’s name and location painted on the bottom by the owner. I started collecting them when I was fourteen and my Dad took me to North Dakota for a summer. I collected mugs at each stop along the way. Not for kitschy slogans or to advertise the places, but for the artistry that went into making each mug beautiful and unique, as comforting as the drinks entrusted within their ceramic walls. 

 

By the time I was eighteen and raring to get out of Twelve Willows, I had an impressive collection. Jo loved it when I shyly told her about it and immediately began adding to it. The first one she brought back, with blazing neon stripes on it, came from Pittsburgh when she had to go to her little sister’s wedding. We’ve been painstakingly collecting enough for our new franchise locations since I told her I was considering expanding. The mug Johanna is currently gripping like it will save her from David’s asinine suggestion says  _ Route 66 Odds and Ends - Albuquerque NM  _ on the bottom. 

 

“I change my mind. For just a second there I felt a tiny speck of pity for the Marvel. Now I want to kill him. Something awful like garrotting him. You know I have people who could help us make it look like an accident.”

 

“You felt sorry for him?” I ask. Yeah, I know I should focus on the fact that my manager just suggested murder as a viable option, but really, I can’t feel for the prick. He might even deserve it. You know, because his brand of harassment should totally be a capital offense.

 

“Only because you actually went on a date with him, Babe,” she smirks and I scowl at her use of his unwanted pet name, “Instead of kicking him in the nuts. Wait...does he even have enough of a dick to make a kick to the junk worthwhile? Maybe a nipple twister would be better.”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” I say and blush, turning my back to her because I really,  _ REALLY,  _ do not want to get into a sex discussion with Johanna.

 

Thankfully, Paul has returned to the register to get a Pounding Cranium to go. The phone rings and I answer while Johanna takes care of him. As the harsh twang I am all too familiar with fills my ears, the smile I’d just managed to get back on my face falls.

  
“Katniss Everdeen? My name is Jenny Ray, I’m a nurse at Panem County Memorial. We’ve got a patient here who listed you as her emergency contact. A Miss Margaret Undersee. We’re gonna need you to come here as soon as possible.”


	2. Chapter 2

“Unf,” I grunt as I startle awake, arms flailing as I try to catch myself before falling out of my chair. Blinking and rubbing the shitty sleep from my eyes, I stand out of my chair a little so I can check on Madge. She’s still fast asleep, facing the wall, her beautiful face bruised. I know from what the nurses told me when I arrived that the worst of the bruises on her face rests over a cracked cheekbone, and that they extend down her torso over her ribs, one of which is also cracked.

 

With a sigh, I sit back in my chair and check my watch before I rest my head on my steepled fingers, uncertain what woke me. Immediately after the hospital called me, I left Daily Fix in Johanna’s capable hands and packed a bag before driving myself to Panem County. The entire time, I puzzled over why Madge would go to a hospital over an hour away from Twelve Willows when she could’ve just as easily gone to the clinic in town or even the one in Eleven Acres, twenty minutes down the mountains from her home.

 

When I arrived, I couldn’t get many answers, though. Now I’m thinking I might need to find a hotel room and come back for Madge in the afternoon. I’m worried about her, though. We haven’t spoken in ten years, not since I left Twelve Willows.

 

I’m trying hard not to jump to conclusions since she’s been out since I got here yesterday evening, but it’s hard to do. She gave the hospital her maiden name and put me, someone who was maybe once her friend but lost contact with her when I left town, as her emergency contact. It didn’t make much sense until I saw her. Then I started to wonder if Johanna really did have people who could make a murder look like an accident. 

 

My brain is fuzz and I haven’t had decent coffee since before I got here, and so I nod off again. Something lands on my shoulder. Screaming and flying upright out of my chair, I smack it off me. I whirl around as there’s a  _ splat _ and hot liquid splashes over my ankles. “Motherfucker!”

 

“Whoa,” a male voice says, smooth and yet with a small note of laughter in it. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

 

I tear my glare away from my now stained jeans, one of my favorite pairs, to turn my wrath on the intruder. One with a suspiciously mountainous twang to his voice. Whoever the fucker is, he’s not touching Madge.

 

My eyes meet his and he smiles in the face of my glare. Jerk.

 

...Hot jerk…

 

I blink and he holds his hand out to me, offering a paper cup of something steaming and now the scent of what splashed around my ankles wafts up to my nostrils.

 

“Thought you could use some coffee,” he says. Rescind the jerk comment. Hot and thoughtful.

 

I shake my head and chastise myself. I am here for Madge, and although I know this isn’t her husband, there is something vaguely familiar about his smile and his wavy, ash blonde hair. I need to be careful. My friend is vulnerable right now, with me as her only protection.

 

Glancing down at the empty cup and the puddle on the floor, I wonder at him bringing two cups. No one knows that I’m here except the nurses and Johanna. Did he plan on having a relaxing drink with my beat to shit best friend?

 

“I hope I didn’t ruin your jeans,” he says, lifting the cup again in a clear offer for me to take it. 

 

My eyes sweep down over him. Wall of muscled chest. Jesus, those arms. The kind Hollywood would train an actor for weeks to achieve. All covered in a faded green t-shirt. Jeans. Brown leather boots. I whip my eyes back up to his and tell my stomach -- certainly not anything lower -- to calm the freak down. His accent means he’s from around home and I don’t care how hot he is, home boys are trouble with dreams of wedding rings and white picket fences, three home cooked meals a day, plastering their name over yours, eight kids, and no business plans.

 

But coffee, I can accept. I take it and watch him warily as he stuffs his hands in his pockets to watch me take the first sip. It occurs to me that he’s maybe drugged it and I’m about to be dragged off to his hillbilly harem, but I guess a hospital isn’t exactly the best place to scout for new additions to harems. So I drink. And I moan.

 

“Oh my god, I needed this,” I say. His smile widens and a dimple appears in his left cheek. Sweet Jesus, panties are not safe around this man. Then he turns and grabs several paper towels from the sink in the room and starts cleaning up the spilled coffee mess. I step aside to give him room and get a good look at the backside of him, which should be illegal in all fifty states and Puerto Rico. 

 

“How are you holding up?” he asks while he works. It’s an odd question that suggests familiarity with either Madge or myself, and the longer I stay silent, the more I remember the manners my mother pounded into me since I could crawl. They weren’t needed as much in Philly, since a person could get by on much less and still be considered polite, but here, it’s almost required to engage in small talk. Ugh, small talk.

 

“I’m great,” I say, the words flying out and proving that I clearly haven’t had enough coffee yet. “I drove four hours to get here at 20 over the speed limit basically the entire way, haven’t showered in over twenty-four hours, and am seriously thinking of squeezing the coffee out of those paper towels directly into my mouth because I can’t survive without it.”

 

Because I am apparently a rambling idiot. Remember I mentioned my mother drilled this stuff into me since I could crawl? Yeah, it never really took. 

 

“You do look like you’ve had a long night,” he says as he gathers up the towels and the empty cup and tosses them in the nearby trash can. I sway on my feet and reach out a hand, placing it on his chest to steady myself so I don’t fall on my face. Just what I need, to have it confirmed by a hot guy that I look like I just got dragged through a cow pasture.

 

But saints preserve me, his chest is warm and solid as a rock beneath my hand. I forcibly have to remove it before I start petting him.

 

“Still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, stuffing his hands back in his jeans pockets. Then he gives me such a sweet smile with the just the right amount of shyness, it’s completely incongruous with his panty-dropping body and warning bells go off in my head.

 

Stranger danger! My brain warns. Even if he seems harmless and brought me coffee, I still need to figure out who he is.

 

“Um, who are you?” I ask with less certainty and more hostility than I’d like. He blinks at me and his smile slips. Guilt hits me as it occurs to me that I’m probably drinking his coffee and he just cleaned up mine, but that doesn’t give him permission to flirt with me. Still, I’m trying not to be rude, right?

 

“I just mean that you’re clearly not a patient and you aren’t wearing scrubs, so are you visiting someone?” I try to recover, but his smile doesn’t return and why does that upset me?

 

“I’m a friend of Madge’s,” he says, tilting his head towards her bed. “I just wanted to check on her before I head into work. But since you’re here, I know she’s in good hands.”

 

His words once more suggest familiarity, but my exhausted brain can’t seem to get past  _ coffee, biceps, sleep, dimples.  _ For a moment, his eyes search my face. With the curtains drawn against the sunshine outside, the room is mostly dark so I can’t pinpoint their exact shade. Then he sighs and turns to leave the room, pausing in the doorway to smile at me one last time, although the effect is greatly diminished this time.

 

“Enjoy your daily fix,” he says, nodding towards the coffee cup still clutched in my hand. I nod dumbly as he leaves before I can ask him how he knows Madge. And if he is a friend of hers, how can he know to trust me around her? I mean, she’s spent most of her life in Twelve Willows, and everyone there knows everyone else, but I don't recognize him. Plus she put  _ me _ down as an emergency contact. Why not this guy if he’s really a friend? I’m so confused and worn out that I give up on trying to settle the issue of Hot Guy Bearing Coffee and flop back into my chair to enjoy my daily fix and wait for Madge to wake up.


	3. Chapter 3

“I look like the night of the living dead!” I say, glancing once more in the mirror at my water splashed face to make sure I don’t have anymore drool tracks down my chin. Behind me, Madge chuckles. I’m just so happy to hear that sound that I keep going, hoping to draw more laughter out of her. “And you’re no help. I basically molested Hot Guy Bearing Coffee’s chest and you didn’t even have the decency to wake up and stop me from making a fool of myself.”

 

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad, Katniss,” she says around her chuckles. “I’m actually certain you were in withdrawal and hallucinated the whole thing. I have zero male friends, let alone any I’d refer to as a Hot Guy.”

 

“For the sake of my pride, I hope you’re right, but that means we have a bigger problem on our hands.”

 

“What’s that?” Madge asks as I pat my face dry and hold up my now empty coffee cup.

 

“I’m ordering coffee while sleepwalking. Which means I really am the night of the living dead come to life.” Madge bursts out laughing, then winces, lightly wrapping her arm over her middle. I toss the cup and move to hover over her, but she waves me off, smiling warmly at me.

 

“Is that our only problem?” she asks.

 

When Madge woke up, I didn’t think it’d be wise to badger her with a thousand questions. As soon as she saw me, her eyes began to water, so I went for diversion tactics and immediately started rambling about my humiliation with Hot Guy Bearing Coffee. I guess she needs that for a little longer, but eventually we’ll need to get serious. We haven’t covered anything important. Like how she wound up here in Panem County Memorial, or why she had me listed as her emergency contact. Or where I can find her shitbag husband so I can end him. I may need to call Johanna soon.

 

“No,” I say, steering clear of the more serious issues. “Either I have untapped potential in the imagination department or the seventh seal of hell has opened. Because I don’t remember them making guys like that in West Virginia. Or even in Philly for that matter.”

 

“Sign you up for a side career in trashy romance novels then,” Madge says with a smile.

 

My eyes cover her entire face. The mess of bruises on her usually smooth and porcelain pale skin, the angry red of popped blood vessels in her eyes, and the purple swelling around that eye. Even her hair, normally curled and styled to perfection, rests in a tangled wreck around her head on the pillow. Tears fill her eyes as I finally meet her gaze again and her lip quivers as she reaches out for me. I immediately grasp her hand in mine.

 

“I can’t believe you actually came here. But I’m just so happy to see you, Katniss,” she says as tears start to fall from her eyes.

 

“Of course I came,” I say vehemently. She has to know I’d never leave her in a jam if she needed me. I know we haven’t seen each other or spoken in ten years, but that doesn’t change the fact that she was my best friend growing up. One of the few people I could trust. “I just don’t understand _why_ you put me as your emergency contact.”

 

“Who else _could_ I put?” she whispers, her gaze dropping away from mine and focusing on her lap. “It doesn’t matter how far away you go or how long you’re gone. You’ll always be my friend. You’re the only person I could trust with this.”

 

I squeeze her hand and blink away my own tears. She’s perfectly echoed my own thoughts. In a small town, your friend choices are limited, but I got lucky with Madge. Our mothers were best friends, along with Madge’s aunt, her mother’s twin sister. Maysilee Donner had all boys, and caused a huge scandal in the town when after he died of a heart attack, she changed her and her sons’ last names back to her maiden name. Almost as big as the scandal caused by my own mother’s loosely defined marriage to my father.

 

Whenever our mothers and Maysilee would get together, Madge and I banded together to ward off the schemes of her cousins. People in town referred to us as the Dynamic Duo. Partly because where I am olive skinned with grey eyes and straight dark hair, a mirror of my father’s heritage, Madge is fair skinned with angelic blue eyes and blonde hair. More than that, though, they called us that because we were constantly getting into trouble. Well, I dragged us into trouble and Madge sweet-talked us out of it. Madge was also one of the few people who stood up for me when someone whispered back-handed comments about my ancestry or my race. The nicest thing people could think of to say about me was that I was free-spirited and light-footed, suggesting that I’d eventually abandon the ones I loved. Kind of like the way my father married my mother but then didn’t stick around. In trying to avoid the worst things they thought about me, I ended up fulfilling the best things they thought. Which still weren’t nice. What a cruel irony.

 

I never realized until this minute, though, just how much I’ve missed Madge and her friendship. Guilt overwhelms me because in my haste to get out of that town, I abandoned Madge. And look at the awful predicament she ended up in without me there.

 

“So Brigham did this?” I ask. I don’t really need her to confirm it. Her comment that I was the only one she could trust already pinned the guilt squarely on her husband’s chest. But I need to say something or I’ll either start screaming or sobbing. Madge nods, the tears still falling steadily from her eyes.

 

Even after I left, my mother kept me up to date with the happenings in Twelve Willows, so I already knew that Madge had taken up with Brigham Tate two weeks after we’d graduated high school and I’d beat foot out of there for Chicago and business school. Madge remained a faithful girlfriend to him while he went to West Virginia University, and when he returned home, it was with an engagement ring for Madge and a plan to fill her father’s shoes. While I was starting my business, Madge was getting married.

 

Her father, Mayor Undersee, apparently welcomed Brigham into the mayoral office and provided guidance until Brigham announced his intentions to run for the office. Madge’s father graciously did not run for a fifth term and instead, backed a candidate with youth and panache. His daughter’s husband. If you’d asked me, though, Madge would’ve made a better mayor by far. Brigham was a bully and a conniving bastard because he chose his victims wisely and never got caught. Those who never felt the lash of his insults or the backlash of the lies he told teachers and other authority figures were enamored by his charm. Not me. I made no secret of the fact that I hated him growing up. Which explains why Madge never invited me to her wedding and also why she knew she could trust me with this.

 

“It started a month after we got married. I mean, he often lost his temper with me while he was at WVU, but he was under so much stress there, I thought it’d get better when he got home,” she sniffles and clenches the hand I’m not holding. Releases the tension. “You know he’s the mayor now, right?

 

I nod solemnly.

 

“It may be a small town but it’s still a heavy responsibility. He may be one of the most popular mayors that Twelve Willows has had but he’s constantly under pressure. Voting years are hectic and stressful. And then there are all the functions he needs me to attend and you know I like my quiet and solitude…”

 

She stops talking when she sees my scowl. She’s making excuses for the scumbag and it’s more than I can stand, but the fear that creeps into her eyes tells me that she thinks I’m angry with her. I stand and march to the door, pointing to the first nurse that I see, demanding her attention.

 

“Miss Undersee is ready to leave now if there are no pending procedures for her. How do we get the discharge papers started?”

 

“I’ll take care of that right now,” the nurse tells me.

 

“What are you doing?” Madge asks.

 

“I’m breaking you out of here before Bastard, I mean Brigham, figures out where you are.”

 

“Katniss, no. I can’t. He’s out of town right now, but he’ll be back in two days. I need to stay here and heal.”

 

“You can heal just as well in your own home and two days gives us time to change the locks, file a restraining order, and stock up on enough coffee so I don’t murder him on sight.”

 

“A restraining order?” She squeaks and shakes her head. “The entire town adores him. He’s revitalized the main street, brought in tourism to help replace the mine. If they see me like this or hear about the restraining order--”

 

“Then they’ll wake the fuck up and realize they elected and adore a monster,” I say. “Where’s your stuff? We’re taking you home.”

 

“Over there,” she points uneasily to a pile of discarded clothes. I march to them and pick up a rose colored silk blouse. The blood splattered on the neck and one of the sleeves stirs the anger in my blood until I am physically unable to keep it from my voice or face. I fling it into the trash can and flip open my suitcase, pulling out a plain grey henley shirt. It’s not nearly as classy as Madge’s clothes, but it’s comfortable and not decorated with her blood. Her jeans appear miraculously untouched.

 

“Stand up and I’ll help you put this on,” I tell her as I return to the bed. She obeys. “If the odds are with us, maybe the town will turn on him and burn him alive once they realize how he fooled them all. Otherwise, we’re gonna need some backup. And a lot more coffee.”

 

Once Madge is dressed and gripping my arm, a hopeful smile on her face, I know I made the right choice to come here, and there’s one more thing I know for certain. If Brigham comes anywhere close to Madge, I will take immense pleasure in watching him die.


	4. Chapter 4

“This is a terrible idea,” Madge says nervously as I shove aside glass bottles until I find the one I want.

 

“Bailey’s is never a bad idea,” I insist. “Especially not if we’re going to be drinking shitty insta-coffee. Honestly Madge, you shoulda divorced his ass just for subjecting you to that torture.”

 

Madge snorts and curls her feet onto the couch as I crow in triumph and pull the still sealed bottle from the back of the generously stocked bar. She holds up both mugs of coffee for me to add a generous amount of Bailey’s to each. Setting the bottle on the coffee table, I accept my mug from her. 

 

“Besides, when have I ever had a bad idea?” I ask and sigh at the first sip of what is more Bailey’s than coffee concoction.

 

“Only all the time,” Madge teases, but she’s smiling happily, and that’s much better than the tears from earlier. 

 

There are still so many things I want to know, but first I need to lubricate her some more. Our first stop after we left the hospital was to a hardware store. Once we reached her home, I immediately changed the locks and had Madge change the codes to the security system, biting my tongue with the question of why she and Brigham even needed one in a town where the most exciting crime that ever happened was when Haymitch Abernathy got drunk off his own moonshine and accidentally shot his own foot. Granted, I may have played a part in the shooting, but how was I supposed to know the old codger was armed and ornery?

 

“Name one,” I say indignantly. I need her relaxed and loose when the sheriff shows up. I took the liberty of calling while she was in the shower earlier, and left a message asking them to send someone out as soon as possible. Hopefully she’ll be happy enough after ragging on me for a bit that she won’t put up too much of a fight and file the fucking restraining order.

 

Having seen her home, I’m more convinced than ever that it’s a good thing she put my name on that form. Madge and Brigham live in a beautiful restored home tucked in between the welcoming arms of the woods, on the edges of town, with only a handful of neighbors. Every room decorated in the latest styles, impeccable, beautiful. Perfect. Everywhere I look are pictures of them smiling together. At his college, their wedding day, campaigning, awards ceremonies, city functions, Brigham’s inauguration. At first glance, their home presents the perfect picture of wedded bliss. A respectable mayor and his dutiful wife.

 

But I know Madge. I know her smile and her body language. In every last picture, her smile doesn’t quite reach her blue eyes. She holds her body slightly away from Brigham despite his arm wrapped around her shoulder or her hip, as though she’s almost trying to escape the clench of his fingers on her, an iron tight grip that says he won’t be letting her go. It’s not cute or romantic either. It’s sickening.

 

I shake myself free of my thoughts with another healthy sip of boozy coffee and focus on the Madge in front of me. I can deal with Brigham’s mess later. Right now, I need her hopeful and forgiving.

 

“Let’s see, there was the time you decided we should have a fresh honey stand instead of a lemonade stand,” she begins.

 

“That was an inspired idea!”

 

“Until that black bear followed us back into town because it was his beehive we got the honey from,” Madge reminds me. “Or what about the time you stuffed my bra with my dad’s socks?”

 

“Your fault for wearing a white shirt,” I insist and Madge laughs. “How was I supposed to know everyone would see the red stripes through your clothes?”

 

“There’s also the time you drugged Buttercup, and gave him stimulants instead of painkillers and he tore up Sunday brunch,” Madge says, warming to her topic.

 

“That cat was sick and in pain! I was just trying to see to his comfort,” I argue. “And he died happy with a belly full of Rooba’s tuna casserole. He had the time of his life for those last thirty minutes, so I don’t want to hear it.”

 

I lift my nose in disdain and we continue drinking, sharing stories from our youth until the Bailey’s is almost gone and Madge’s cheeks are flushed and she’s covering her mouth to keep from snorting in laughter. My plan is working except for the fact that it’s almost seven o’clock and there’s still no sign of anyone from the sheriff’s department. As much as I don’t want to announce my presence back in Twelve Willows just yet, there’d be no better way to do it than by making a scene in the middle of the sheriff’s office.

 

“Enough reminiscing,” Madge says with a bright smile. “I want to hear about what you’ve been doing, Katpiss.”

 

We both lose it over her mispronunciation and I try to answer all of her questions about Daily Fix and Jo and somehow she even knows about David Marvel, which tells me that my mother probably calls Madge two seconds after hanging up with me. I shouldn’t be surprised, but it only adds to my feeling of guilt for abandoning Madge.

 

“I’m so proud of you, Katniss,” she says softly, setting her mug back on the coffee table. “You made something of yourself and got out of here. You never let all of that stuff people used to say about you stop you from doing what you wanted. And I just sat here and never stuffed my bra and never stole Haymitch’s moonshine and never went skinny dipping and never tamed a lynx and I just let him order me around and hurt me. Over and over. Why did I let him do that to me?”

 

Her voice lowers with each word until her question is no more than a whisper. One that I can’t answer for her because I’ve been wondering the same thing myself. The Madge I knew lied and sweet talked and coerced our way out of every one of the scrapes we’ve laughed over tonight. She saved my ass from so many arrests and detentions, I’ve lost count. I always thought of her as being strong. Quiet and kind, but so brave.

 

She sniffles and picks her cup back up, holding it out to me for more.

 

“Hey, rule number one of tonight...there is no crying in the Bailey’s, got it? We’re not doing some salted caramel mocha choka shit here, okay? And I am not going anywhere again until I know that you’re okay.”

 

Madge laughs through her tears and I refill her mug. But it’s time for me to stop drinking if I’m going to make good on my promise and protect her. A knock on the door startles us both. Madge’s eyes blow wide with fear, her alcohol flush dying on her cheeks as she turns pale.

 

“Katniss,” she says, her voice quavering.

 

“It’s okay,” I reassure her. “I’ll see who it is, you just stay here and out of sight, but close to the phone in case we need to call the cops, okay?”

 

I wish I could erase the fear from her eyes, and I know I should tell her that it’s probably the sheriff at the door, but the alcohol is making my tongue a little fuzzy. Besides, I’m confident it’s not her shitbag husband. I’m pretty sure he’d be pounding and yelling, not knocking sedately like a neighbor visiting with a casserole or gossip. And I’m a little worried about her reaction to me immediately calling the authorities into this without her explicit permission. 

 

Just to be safe, though, I grab a heavy stone award shaped like an arrowhead from the hallway table.  _ Outstanding Services Award Presented to Mayor Brigham Tate, Number One in Our Streets and Our Hearts From the First Presbyterian Ladies Aid Society. _

 

“Ugh, piece of fucking pond scum,” I mutter then apologize to the noble pond scum for insulting it. Armed with Brigham’s award, I pause behind the front door. “Who is it?”

 

“Sheriff’s department,” a muffled voice responds. I peek through the lace curtains covering the long windows that flank the door and make a mental note to board these windows up later so no one can smash them to reach through and unlock the door. It’s dark out by now, but I can still make out the khaki and brown shades of a sheriff uniform and a squad car parked on the curb. He’s got his back turned to me, looking down the street, probably at the incessant barking of Mrs. Thompson’s dog. Satisfied, I unlock and open the door.

 

“About time you got here --YOU!” I shout when I see his face and lift the trophy up between us, pointing the tip of the arrow straight at Hot Guy Bearing Coffee’s stupid muscly chest. I’m not sure how much good it will do me against him since he’s got at least a hundred pounds on me and those fucking arms of steel to contend with, and suddenly I wish I’d braved my mother’s house for one of my old bows before coming here.

 

“Yeah, me,” he says, waving towards the weapon in my hands. “Could you put that thing down? I’m not sure if you’ve had coffee recently and I already know how deadly you are with an arrow.”

 

I gape at him, not dropping the weapon at all because how the fuck does he know anything about me?

 

“Did you follow me from the hospital, you creepy stalker?” I shout and his lips twitch a little in what looks like a smile. Or a smirk. Oh I am so not letting my guard down around this one.

 

“Is everything alright?” Madge asks from the living room doorway.

 

“Call the cops, Madge. I wasn’t hallucinating. That guy from the hospital followed us and stole a sheriff’s uniform.”

 

“What? You mean the one with the rock solid chest and the dimples?” she asks and takes a few steps towards us as the creeper’s lips twitch again and I catch a glimpse of teeth.

 

“Rock solid chest?” he asks, and I can hear the laughter in his voice.

 

“Shut up, stalker,” I say, jabbing the award towards him again to make my point. “You don’t get to laugh when you’re the creeper about to land his ass in jail and I’m the one with the weapon.”

 

He tilts his head and gives me an insouciant look, one eyebrow lifted, then points to the gun in a holster strapped to one hip and then the taser strapped to the other.

 

“Am I supposed to be intimidated by your props?” I ask haughtily. “Now I know you’re not a real sheriff. The worst crime that ever happened around here was Haymitch Abernathy drunkenly shooting his foot. Is that a water pistol? Very cute, stalker.”

 

“Actually, no, it’s not a water pistol. And Haymitch only shot his foot because he was drunk and saw trespassers on his property and was trying to threaten them. Two girls running naked through his pasture. You wouldn’t know anything about that, now would you? Trespassing...Indecent exposure…I mean, you did confess to reckless driving earlier today. What was it you said? Twenty over the limit?”

 

I gasp loudly and he takes a step towards me as I wonder how the hell this jackass knows all this shit about me. At least the stuff that I didn’t tell him, like the streaking in Haymitch’s pastures. I jab the tip of the arrow into his chest as he halts with it dimpling his shirt. He’s not the least bit afraid of me and it pisses me off.

 

“Can you please put the weapon down now, Katniss?”

 

“Go call the cops, Madge,” I repeat, unnerved that he knows my name.

 

“Peeta?” she says softly, a lot closer this time, and Hot Guy’s eyes shift to where she now stands somewhere behind me. All laughter leaves them in an instant.

 

“Jesus Christ, Madge,” he says and steps around me and my useless weapon. Useless because my arms go limp at the name Madge called him.  _ Peeta?! _

 

“You were on your side when I stopped by the hospital earlier and I couldn’t see,” he says, gently slipping a finger under her chin and tilting her face to examine her black eye. “That fucking bastard.”

 

“I’ll be okay,” Madge whispers and something curdles inside me at the gentle way he’s touching her and looking at her.

 

“Peeta?! As in Peeta Mellark?!” I say in a strangled voice, and I blame the Bailey’s as he throws me an exasperated look.

 

Madge’s eyes dart over to me and she actually smiles again.

 

“You really didn’t know? Is this Hot Guy Bearing Coffee? Oh my gosh, I can’t believe you didn’t recognize him,” Madge says and Peeta finally has the decency to unhand a married woman. Not that I want her to  _ stay _ married to Brigham, but I mean she is still technically attached and doesn’t need to be pawed right now.

 

“Hot Guy Bearing Coffee?” Peeta says with an annoying tilt to his lips.

 

“She wouldn’t shut up about it all afternoon and all this evening,” Madge says and I sputter indignantly. I’m tempted to add to her bruises to get her to shut up. I only talked about him for hours to keep her spirits up.

 

“She’s exaggerating,” I insist with a glare at my best friend that Peeta couldn’t possibly miss, since he’s looking right at me. “And apparently a liar, since you really are friends with him.”

 

“Oh,” she says and bites her lip at the anger in my voice. I need to reign it in. I’m here to help her, not make things worse for her. “I didn’t think--”

 

“It’s fine, Madge,” Peeta says quietly and tucks his hand in her elbow to steer her towards the kitchen. “It’s been a few years and I’m not sure she was fully functioning when I stopped by.”

 

“I still have a weapon in my hands,” I say as I shut the front door and lock it before following them to the kitchen. “Stop speaking about me like I’m not here or you’ll lose something vital.”

 

I’m pointing the tip of the award at him again, significantly lower this time, and he has the balls to laugh. While I’m threatening his balls.

 

“Now I know you need more coffee. You were never this flirty. My eyes are up here, sweetheart,” he says and I almost unman him right then and there when I yank my gaze north, my entire body heated and flushed at the arrogant laughter I see in his blue eyes. Staring at them is almost as distracting as staring at his crotch, though. And that’s how I know it really is Peeta. Those cornflower blues with flecks of grey and darker blue that’s nearly royal, finally clear in the well lit kitchen, are unmistakable. 

 

“First the weird chest petting at the hospital and now you’re picturing me naked.”

 

“I am not!” I yell, brought back from ogling his eyes by his insult. “I was threatening your man bits! Get it right or--”

 

“Sure, Katniss,” he says, getting a glass of water. “Keep going if you want to be the field test for the taser I’ve never had to use.”

 

“I’ll still stab you in the crotch. This puppy is stone, not metal. Your taser doesn’t scare me.” 

 

“Please, you two. Katniss, why don’t you go on upstairs and take a shower,” Madge says and Peeta immediately softens, handing her the glass.

 

Her suggestion reminds me that I haven’t showered in a day and a half, almost two, and I must smell as bad as I look and feel. Also, I’m still wearing the same coffee stained jeans from this morning. Which makes it twice now that Peeta’s seen me looking like something dragged from the dumpster behind Sae’s Soul Food, and why the hell do I even care?

 

I grumble about it, but I go, because Peeta would never hurt her and even if there is no one else I can trust in this town, I can at least partially trust Peeta. He’d never hurt anyone. Besides, he’s examining her face again and talking to her in quiet tones that speak of closeness and familiarity, basically ignoring my presence in the room. Obviously, they both want some time together. Alone.

 

Ashamed at my outbursts and the feelings churning in my gut, I set the heavy award on the table and head back towards the front door. I’ll shower eventually, but first I need some fresh air. Out in the front yard, I fold my arms over my chest and stare up at the night sky, already peppered with stars that I usually can’t see in Philly.

 

I am unable to reconcile the Peeta Mellark I knew ten years ago with the confident smart ass in the sheriff’s uniform back inside. We were in the same class, and while Peeta and I were never close friends, he was always sweet and often stood up for me. Even though I never asked him to. It didn’t make sense to me at the time. Whereas I was constantly in trouble and pissing off our neighbors, Peeta lived by the rules. Probably because he had to, with his mother and all. But he was always just so  _ good _ and  _ kind _ and  _ likable _ . Which kind of explains why he’s the sheriff around here now.

 

And while he was sweet and never hard to look at, he wasn’t... _ hot _ while we were growing up. Just another awkward teenage boy with appendages too big for his body, unruly hair, braces, and a tendency to duck his gaze and never look you straight in the eye when you talked to him. Guess he was a late bloomer.

 

I’ve just managed to reign my anger back into a controllable level where I don’t feel like smacking the arrogant smirk off of Peeta’s face or something equally rash when something warm and wet splashes over my bare feet. My head whips down and I scream and kick at the ugly as fuck cat pissing all over my feet. The thing starts hissing and arching at me and if I had shoes on to protect myself from it’s claws, I’d kick the damn thing.

 

“Whiskers!” Peeta shouts and the cat slinks away into the night as Peeta orders it home to Ripper. I should’ve known the fugly thing belonged to the town’s crazy cat lady.

 

“PISS ON ME AGAIN AND I’LL SKIN YOU AND USE YOU AS A DOORMAT, YOU FUGLY FLEA BAG!” I yell after it’s retreating form.

 

I stomp back across the yard and up the steps, past Peeta, who’s leaning against one of the pillars and smiling at me. Asshole. Wiping my bare feet on the mat, I flip my hair over my shoulder and lift my chin with all the dignity I can muster before yanking the door open.

 

“I don’t even get a ‘thank you’?” he asks.

 

“Screw you,” I mutter, walking back into the house.

 

“Don’t you mean, screw you,  _ Hot Guy _ ?” he shouts after me with evident amusement in his voice. I march into the living room and grab what’s left of the Bailey’s before turning to find him watching me with that damned smirk and those damned dimples. So I stomp past him towards the stairs and flip him off like I’m the fucking queen.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few of the trigger warnings apply to this chapter, to include the racial slurs.

“Go back to his rippling pectorals,” Johanna says and I toss aside my towel in frustration.

 

“Have you hear a word that I’ve said? I’m having a crisis here!”

 

“Calm down, drama queen. Of course I heard you. I’m just choosing to focus on Thor’s hotness right now.”

 

“Ugh, Jo! My childhood friend has been abused by her husband almost since the day they were married and you want me to talk about Peeta the Ass.”

 

“Oh his ass! You haven’t talked about his ass yet. Tell me about it’s tone and proportions and flexing power. I need to know these things. And you do too by the sound of it. Did you know your voice gets all breathy when you say his name, like a god damned sex operator or something.”

 

“Jo! Focus! I called to check on the shop and get some advice, not to answer twenty questions about Peeta fucking Mellark.”

 

“Does he have dimples on both cheeks or just one? Left or right? Tell me for the love of all that is holy in this world that he has a man bun? Tattoos? Oh my god, Kat... _ handcuffs _ .”

 

“You’re useless and I’m hanging up.”

 

“I will smash Theo to pieces.”

 

“You wouldn’t!” I gasp, but if there’s one thing Johanna loves more than good coffee, it’s good sex. I wouldn’t put it past her right now. She starts humming the theme song to  _ Jeopardy _ and I cave. “Fine! Bitch! Think less Thor and more...blonde Clark Kent. Without the glasses.”

 

“Oh sweet Jesus, I think I just came.”

 

“Oddly enough, this isn’t helping me any,” I mutter and wrestle to get my shirt on over the phone. I came upstairs to shower and avoid Peeta for a little while and Madge has already checked on me twice, whispering that it was really cute how flustered I got around Peeta, which just makes me even more pissed off and ready to give him a swift kick in the nuts.

 

“Oh but it can, honey buns. You’ve got to spend several days there at least to make sure Madge is set to go and Brigham’s ass is mulch, right? So I see this as a win-win for you. Take care of your friend like you’ve been doing, and on your down time, apologize to Sheriff Hot Buns for not recognizing him and threatening to make him a eunuch. Then put on your best flirty face and maybe, if you’re lucky, he’ll put you under house arrest and put those handcuffs to good use...preferably by committing several acts of lewdness that actually would get both of you arrested in that ass backwards town of yours. They’ve probably got all kinds of weird sodomy laws like anything but missionary is forbidden.”

 

I wish she’d shut up because now I’m thinking about being chained to Peeta’s bed while engaging in at least seven different counts of sodomy and indecency with him.

 

“Enough!” I say, cutting Jo off before she can put anymore filthy ideas in my head. “Peeta’s probably gone by now and I have to get back to Madge.”

 

On her last trip upstairs, Madge whispered that she was filling out a restraining order and Peeta was about to leave so he could return to the station and file it before notifying Brigham. She’s probably freaking out right now about it and about how Brigham will react when he finds out. Which means I need to board up those windows tonight before he decides to come home early and finish what he started.

 

“Just remember, Kat. Apology first and then O-face, got it?”

 

“You disgust me.”

 

“You can’t live without me,” Johanna says. “I want details. Like disgusting details. I’ll bet he’s packing. And I ain’t talking about a gun. Oh and David the Marvelous dropped by right before closing time to see if you could move your ah-mazing date to Saturday night. Said you hadn’t answered his calls.”

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake. What did you tell him?”

 

“I told him that you had eloped to West Virginia with your childhood sweetheart and were probably already working on your brood of twelve offspring. Who knew I was psychic?”

 

“Please tell me you’re joking?” I groan, but I have a feeling that she’s not. He’s already left a voicemail and sent me three text messages, all of which I deleted without listening to or reading. I was wondering what burned a hole in his ass.

 

“Don’t worry, I also texted my Uncle Ezra who’s a manager with the city’s sanitation department to ask him how easy it would be to dispose of a body. Just in case you need that for Marvelous...or Brigham for that matter.”

 

“Jo…”

 

“Make nice and then have Sheriff Hot Buns pet your kitty til you purr. Gotta go, Kat!”

 

She hangs up before I can argue with her or tell her to fix this mess with David. I glare at my phone and then toss it on my bed, hoping there’s some more Bailey’s downstairs because I need coffee and I am not yet desperate enough to drink that insta-shit straight up. My first task tomorrow will be to scour the limited stores here and find some decent brewing equipment and to maybe sacrifice a virgin for some halfway decent beans. Right now, though, I need to comfort Madge.

 

I find her in the kitchen, mixing up some more of the insta-coffee, but there’s now a whiskey bottle on the counter, ready to be mixed in with the brew. She’s smiling softly, a quiet and serene expression that is more like the Madge that I know, but for some reason, it pricks at me. Flashes of Peeta touching her like she’s something precious and the way they looked at one another, eyes all melty, play across my brain and I grab the whiskey to add a generous helping to my mug.

 

“So, Peeta,” I start and Madge hums, looking up at me with a sly look. “Are you and him…?”

 

I trail off because I don’t have the crass sort of bluntness that so easily comes to Johanna. Madge shakes her head and looks confused so I take a deep breath and just ask.

 

“Are you sleeping with him? I mean he was always kind of the sweet and sensitive type and no one could blame you for wanting that what with Brigham being such an irredeemable asshole and all but I just wanna make sure there’s not anything Brigham can use against you or if there is, we’re ready for it. Cuz you know, mayor’s wife having an affair with the sheriff may actually beat my mother and my dad for scandal of the century in this town and maybe Peeta’s really not great boyfriend material since he did nothing about what Brigham was doing to you and--”

 

“Katniss, breathe,” Madge says and laughs at me, placing a hand over mine on the table. “First of all, I think that one’s going to be your last drink for the night. Second, I am not nor have I ever slept with Peeta. He’s like a brother to me. Third, he’s never been interested in me either. You were always the one he had a massive crush on.”

 

I spit my coffee out and Madge laughs with glee while I cough and practically choke, my eyes watering and my nose burning.

 

“Peeta did  _ not  _ have a crush on me,” I insist, racing to the sink and gathering towels to mop up my mess. But in the back of my head, I’m thinking of all the times I’d catch him looking at me before he glanced away with flaming cheeks. The things he did to get the other kids to shut up about my heritage or my father. His quiet, awkward speech whenever we did talk.

 

Johanna is going to have a field day with this one.

 

“And also, Peeta had his suspicions. He’d ask me if I was okay and remind me that his door was always open if I needed anything, or he’d ask how things were going at home, but I worked so hard to keep it all hidden from everyone. Actually, I already knew some of how to pull it off from watching him. He was always the hardest one to fool because…”

 

Because of his mother. Peeta, of all people in this town, would know exactly what the signs were. Madge sighs and looks up at me with watery eyes.

 

“So how did he know you were in the hospital?” I ask quietly.

 

“He has a friend who works as a nurse in Eight Lanes. Apparently she was filling in a temp job at county and recognized my name from when I went to the clinic in Eight Lanes six months ago. Only I was so out of it when I checked into County that I put Twelve Willows as my address instead of making one up like I usually do. She thought something might be going on and called Peeta since she knows he’s the sheriff here.”

 

“Oh,” I say, fighting back tears at the thought of Madge driving herself all over the state to different hospitals, giving out fake names and addresses to keep anyone from figuring out what was going on. “That’s amazing of her, though. She could’ve lost her job for doing that without your permission.”

 

“I know,” Madge says quietly. “I told Peeta to make sure that didn’t happen. That she knows I’m not angry with her or anything. If it weren’t for her and you coming out here for me, and Peeta...I’m not sure I would’ve ever filed that restraining order.”

 

I still haven’t decided about Peeta. His own mother used to hit him and he had his suspicions about Brigham but did  _ nothing _ . That’s the mark of a shitty sheriff  _ and _ a shitty friend in my book. It makes me wonder if Brigham has some sort of hold over Peeta the same way he’s always had over the rest of this town. Brigham’s handsome in the traditional sense, and can be charming when he’s getting his way. But I never thought Peeta would fall for that crap. He didn’t seem to in school. But then again, neither did Madge. And she married the guy.

 

Not that it’s her fault that Brigham turned into an abusive asshole. That’s all on him. It just makes me not trust Peeta just yet. Not until I know more.

 

“Hey, it’ll be okay. I’ll stay here as long as you need me, alright? I’ve already talked to Jo, and the shop will be fine. I’ve got nothing right now that’s more important than you.”

 

Madge smiles at me and I stand to give her a hug. She presses a swift kiss to my cheek and then hides her tears behind her mug.

 

I intend to take at least part of Jo’s advice and keep doing what I’m doing now to help Madge. To start with, I send her upstairs to shower and dress in her pajamas while I rummage around in her basement and find a few strips of plywood. I measure and cut, then nail them over the windows flanking the front door. When I’m done with that, I check all the windows and set the security alarm.

 

I’m just returning to the downstairs after checking on Madge, when the handle on the front door rattles. A moment of silence then it rattles more vigorously. Then the pounding begins, and it’s not just the door that thunders. So does my pulse. I wonder if Madge is able to hear the racket upstairs, probably not since she’s still in the shower.

 

“Madge! Why the hell doesn’t my key work?” Brigham yells through the door and pounds more rapidly.  I don’t hear her and she’s not coming downstairs, so I assume that means she doesn’t hear anything. It is an awfully large house. The door rattles in its frame as he hits it again, the hardest yet and I jump, heart thudding as I wonder what I’ll do if he kicks the damn thing down. The alarm will go off since we changed the codes, but would Peeta get here in time?

 

“Open the fucking door, Madge! I cut this trip short because I was worried about you! You know I hate leaving you after a fight! I left a potential donor hanging for you and this is how you thank me? Do you have any idea how much support I stand to lose? OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR, DAMNIT!”

 

Brigham’s voice and the absolute crap he’s spewing yank my fear right out of me and replace it with blind fury. I promised Madge that I would protect her, and while he may have been able to intimidate and push her around, and while he may have been able to fool and dazzle all of Twelve Willows, I am immune to his shit. And I will not stand here and cower.

 

Before he can yell any louder or put a rock through a window to set off the alarm, I unlock the front door, and with the scowl that all of Twelve Willows, West Virginia and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania knows me for plastered to my face, I shove the door open hard enough to make it bounce off the wall and I march through. He staggers back as the door slams shut on its rebound, and I hope that Madge will be smart enough to lock it and call Peeta when she realizes where I am.

 

I cross my arms and take in Brigham’s chestnut hair, and boyish face. He always had that 1950’s All-American-boy-next-door-high-school-quarterback look about him that makes the entire town swoon. Throw a football jersey or a letterman’s jacket on him and he doesn’t look any different than he did in high school. Which I’m sure has only helped him pull the wool over the eyes of everyone in this town. But I know the vile nastiness that hides beneath the beauty.

 

“You’ve put your hands on Madge for the last time, you worthless piece of trash. I suggest you get off this porch now, before I rip off your balls and shove them so far down your throat that you choke on them!”

 

I am ice and fire as he blinks at me. Then he smiles his blinding politician’s smile at me and even has the audacity to laugh and shake his head, as though we’re still teenagers and I’m still the town nuisance. I want to stomp his face in the dirt. Or better yet, into the manure pile that the goat man keeps out behind his house, claiming that it’s fertilizer, but that he never uses or sells.

 

“You’ll stop smiling when you’re served with the restraining order Madge filed against your ass tonight. I’m sure the sheriff’s department will be in touch with you soon to tell you just how fucking far away from her you have to stay, if they haven't called you already. In the meantime, I’m pretty sure you’re in violation just by pulling into the driveway. So I suggest you get the fuck out of here, you slimy fuckwad shit stain!”

 

His face transforms so fast that I don’t have time to prepare myself for his quick steps forward or his hand on my throat as he pushes me against the house and lowers his face until our noses almost touch. Pain shoots up my spine and sparks behind my eyes as he squeezes.

 

“Katniss Everdeen,” he snarls. “You haven’t changed a bit. Still a fucking ice queen sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong and causing everyone more trouble than she’s worth.”

 

I claw at his wrists and gape like a fish as he squeezes the air from my throat and spots dot my vision.

 

“Well guess what, Mutt, karma’s a bitch too and you have no idea how much trouble you’ve just brought on yourself by meddling in my life.”

 

He yanks me forward and I’m already so short on oxygen that I can barely put up a fight as he shoves me back against the house, my head smacking on the glass with a sickening crack as my skull feels like it’s been split by lightning. In my anger, I underestimated Brigham and his arrogance, believing that he wouldn’t lay a hand on me on his front porch where anyone in town could walk by and see. I’m about two seconds from passing out and I can’t scream with his hold on me. I send up a silent apology to Madge for failing her.

 

“Now, we’re going to walk calmly into  _ my _ house, and you’re going to pack your things, and then you are going to stay the fuck away from  _ my wife _ or we can finish this the hard way. Got that, Mutt?”

 

I can’t get a grip on him, my sweaty palms slipping off his wrists, and even though I must’ve drawn blood with my nails, it doesn’t seem to have phased him. I do the only thing I can and nod, the movement small and jerky.

 

When he releases me, I collapse and grip the door handle, gasping and coughing as I plan my last stand, to buy Madge as much time as possible. While Brigham is tugging down on his suit vest and then his shirt sleeves, attempting to present the cool and collected politician, I reach out and grab his head then bring my knee up into his crotch with all my strength.

 

He squeals and falls back, grabbing his nuts and cursing at me.

 

“You fucking bitch!” he yells and swings wildly at me. I’m prepared this time, and manage to duck, his fist smashing into the house as he screams, but I don’t have much room to move and his second punch lands behind my ear, making the world explode. I just have enough time to throw my arms over my head to protect myself as he shoves me to the porch floor.

 

But the blow doesn’t come. Instead the porch shudders with a massive crash. And then there’s a familiar and welcome voice, yet somehow foreign in its low growl.

 

“Try to get up and see how that works out for you.” 

 

I move my arms just enough to watch Peeta as he yanks on Brigham’s arm, twisted behind his back. He’s sprawled out on the porch and groaning, pinned in place with Peeta’s knee in his spine and forearm pressing into the back of Brigham’s neck. My eyes bulge at the set of Peeta’s jaw and the steady way he keeps his prey motionless. The menacing tones of his voice, something I never knew his vocal chords would be capable of producing.

 

“Are you going to assault me over a simple misunderstanding, Sheriff Mellark? You’re off duty, after all.” Brigham says and Peeta’s jaw ticks. My eyes roam over Peeta’s body and see that he’s back in jeans and a t-shirt.

 

“I’ll make myself clear then. Lay a hand on Miss Everdeen again and I will not hesitate to smash your skull or put a bullet in your head. You're just lucky I am off duty or there’d already be one there,” he answers and Brigham sighs but stops struggling. “Stand up.”

 

Peeta gets off of him and Brigham complies, shaking and stumbling a little.

 

“Katniss, go back in the house,” Peeta tells me.

 

“Fuck that!” I struggle to stand up too and glare at Brigham from beside Peeta’s broad shoulder. “Where’s your gun? In the car? Give it to me and I’ll shoot him myself. Or better yet, I’ll shoot him in the dick and then you shoot him in the head! Everyone wins!”

 

Although Peeta’s lips twitch slightly, he doesn’t move his gaze from Brigham for an instant or move towards his car. His arm muscles bulge with the effort of holding himself back and rage burns hot in his eyes. While my pride stings and my throat burns from my idiocy for placing myself in this mess, I’m now more inclined to follow Jo’s advice and apologize to Peeta. He’s earned it, showing up here and intervening on my behalf, body slamming Brigham that way. It reminds me that Peeta was on our school’s small but winning wrestling team all through our childhood.

 

Brigham, however, seems to realize that he’s in a losing situation and turns both palms up in supplication as he takes a handful of steps back towards the edge of the porch.

 

“Sheriff elections come up in a few months, don’t they, Peeta? What do you say we head down to Abernathy’s and discuss your campaign plans?” Brigham says with his sleazy politician’s smile. I can’t believe the nerve he has, blackmailing Peeta like that right in front of me, as if Peeta would even entertain--

 

“Sounds like a great idea,” Peeta says and his stance relaxes as I gape at him again. “Why don’t you go get us a seat and I’ll join you as soon as I make sure this scuffle didn’t upset Madge.”

 

Brigham nods smugly as I struggle to find words furious enough to tell Peeta what I think of him.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” I screech. Well it’s more of a croak. Peeta finally turns to me, his eyes jumping angrily between my neck and my eyes as his nostrils flare and his jaw still ticks and I don’t know if he’s angrier with me or Brigham.

 

“Katniss, please go back in the house and look after Madge,” he repeats and I shove his shoulders, uncaring that I’m technically assaulting an officer of the law in front of a witness. Off duty or not, he might still be able to throw my ass in jail for it.

 

“No! I don’t care what sort of kick backs he slips you or how much extra funding the sheriff’s department gets for you kissing his ass and turning a blind eye to all the shit he pulls! You think it’s okay to hang out with that lying, manipulative ass after what he did to Madge? After he nearly killed me tonight? What are you gonna do? Throw back a few beers, laugh at the Mutt, measure your dicks, and call it even? How could you?”

 

“It’s not what it looks like, please trust me,” he insists in a whisper, the ferocious growl gone and the gentle rumble that is Peeta’s voice has returned. My stomach rumbles in traitorous answer. He lifts a hand and traces over the aching part of my throat where Brigham’s fingers dug into my flesh. I barely feel the skim of his skin over mine but it sends a shiver through my body. “You should put some ice on that.”

 

“I can’t believe I was going to apologize for not recognizing you!” I seethe and Peeta smiles at me. Fucking dimples. 

 

“Katniss, let me deal with this. You go take care of Madge. She needs you right now. But you won’t be much good to her if you can’t breathe.” I grind my teeth together because he has a point but I still want to plant my fist in his smirk. 

 

“I came back to keep an eye on things, and I will do that after I’m done with him, but right now, I need you to go back in the house. Stop picturing me naked, take care of Madge, and I’ll make a list of ways you can apologize and show me that you really mean it, okay?”

 

With that, Peeta winks at me and then his boots thump on the porch while I growl and mutter that I am  _ not _ even picturing him  _ shirtless _ , let alone naked. Either he doesn’t hear me as he and Brigham return to their cars or he ignores me and I am left to return to the house with my fury and sore throat.


	6. Chapter 6

“Can you please turn the music off, Jo?” I whine as pain splits my skull in two. My stomach roils and everything hurts, but the music still continues. “I’m serious. Turn off the damn music! Ow.”

 

I whimper and clutch my head as I roll over, the pillow that was covering my head falling to the floor. I squint and try to place my surroundings, which are not the cluttered back room of the Daily Fix like I’d thought. Nor am I in my bedroom. I’m in a very nice bedroom. In Madge’s house. I groan, but I manage to locate my ringing phone, the source of the music that’s killing my cranium.

 

“What?” I answer and immediately regret it.

 

“How is it that you’ve been home for more than a day and I have to hear it from Pamela Cartwright?”

 

“Mama, can you please not shout?” I ask and try to massage my temples. I can hardly remember what happened last night, although there’s a half empty whiskey bottle on the night stand and when I try to roll over to escape the sunlight murdering my eyes, I roll over a pale foot that’s attached to a pale leg, the rest of the body hidden beneath the fluffy yellow duvet.

 

“Don’t you sass me, Katniss Maureen Everdeen!” my mother snaps and I groan as much over her use of my hated middle name as I do over her volume. “You leave this town for ten years and you can’t even tell your mother that you’ve come back? I labor for sixteen hours to bring you into this world and this is the thanks I get? Would you even care if I were on my deathbed?”

 

“Of course I would care, Mama. I’ve just had a rough couple of days, okay? I swear I was going to call you or come out to see you today.”

 

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough swearing? Honestly Katniss, Pamela told me you cursed out Brigham Tate on his own front porch last night. I thought I raised you better than that. You’re not letting that city change you, are you Flower?”

 

My mother’s words bring part of last night back to me and I clench my teeth to contain my fury. I still plan on visiting my mother today, but first I need to get my hands on that no good dimpled sheriff and give him a proper dressing down. After I get Mama off the phone.

  
  


I resent my mother’s comments about Philly, though. No matter how many times I tried explaining to my mother that I wasn’t like her and Prim, she never understood. My mother married a man she loved, had two children with him, and while my father did leave, not content to stay here in Twelve Willows, they never divorced. And their marriage has remained friendly. He’d come visit during summers or school breaks, and we’d spend them on the lake or he’d take us other places. North Dakota, Wyoming, Montana. During the time he was with us, I never noticed any difference between my parents and other kids’. They kissed and doted on one another. Everytime he walked into the room, my mother would light up like a firefly. The only real difference was that eventually, my father would leave again once school resumed.

 

My mother weathered the scandal well because it wasn’t infidelity so much as it was non-traditional. Plus everyone here already adored her and was willing to mostly overlook a passionate love affair so long as the resulting offspring were born in wedlock. Which we were. But while I inherited my Dad’s appearance, Prim inherited Mama’s.

 

Mama’s never understood what this meant. With her blonde hair and blue eyes, Prim was able to pass as white without question or ridicule, and people just accepted her. But me...I was never wanted or accepted. Usually it was veiled, not like Brigham calling me a Mutt last night, but I always knew it was there. The condescension and disdain. I was a creature that should never have existed in their eyes. It didn’t matter how well I behaved, they’d hate me anyways, a lesson I learned early on and put to good use. If all they intended to see was a stereotype, then I’d live my life how I pleased and wouldn’t care what any of them said or thought.

 

Still, eighteen years of that was more than enough for me to want nothing more than to get the hell out of here. And it appears that nothing has changed. I’m already the primary focus of the gossip mill and the scapegoat they’ll blame everything on. The disruption in their perfect little town.

 

Maybe I can convince Madge to divorce that asswipe and then run back to the city with me.

 

“Mama, Brigham Tate is not the nice guy you all think he is. I’ve been saying that for years and now I have proof.”

 

“Katniss Everdeen, I still have to apologize weekly to Rooba Daniels for you stealing her prime cuts of beef and vandalizing her smoke shed. Whatever you did, you fix it today, you hear me? You fix it before they kick me out of sewing club.”

 

“I’ll be out at the house later today to explain everything, Mama, but right now I have got to find some coffee or I will go on a murderous rampage.”

 

I tell her that I love her and then I hang up before she can lecture me for another second. Then I bury my head in the sheets and groan. An answering groan joins mine from across the bed.

 

“Oh my god, I think I’m dying. Everything hurts. Even my hair hurts. How is that possible?” Madge asks, her words muffled by the bed sheets.

 

“It’s called a hangover. Welcome to hell,” I tell her. Her foot kicks slightly next to me and then she lifts her head for a second before letting it flop back down on the bed and groaning when that makes the pain worse.

 

“Did we make pie last night? Why do I remember making pie?” Madge asks and I groan as my stomach protests even the mention of food.

 

“I don’t know,” I belch lightly and cover my mouth, wrinkling my nose at the noxious smell. “I vaguely remember doing something in the kitchen, though.”

 

My phone rings again and I look at it before silencing the ringer and tossing it aside. Not in the mood for another lecture from my mother. Madge looks down at me curiously, and I wave for her to go on with whatever else she remembers.

 

“Peeta left with Brigham and you were furious. Then we cracked open the whiskey because the Bailey’s was all gone, and...I think we made a strawberry pie. I was supposed to bake one for Brigham for when he got home.”

 

“Oh right,” I mumble, because I do now recall a little. Madge had taken one look at the bruises Brigham left on my neck and her face had crumbled. I couldn’t exactly lie to her, so I told her the truth. Instead of weeping, Madge had lifted her chin, raided the liquor bar, and started pouring stiff drinks. We ranted about Brigham and argued over Peeta going to drink with him and then decided to bake that damn pie after I told her that the asshole should eat shit pie since he got home a day early without warning and was a fuck nugget excuse for a human being. After that, it’s mostly a blur.

 

“Should we survey the damage?” she asks.

 

“As soon as I’m sure I’m not gonna puke,” I tell her and she snorts in laughter.

 

“We’ll be here all day.”

 

Eventually, we do manage to make it downstairs. Calling the kitchen a disaster would be an understatement. Flour coats most of the counter and part of the floor. Red berry juice is splattered over the counter backsplash and sink, one side of which is overflowing with red stained bakeware. There’s an egg shell on the floor and a yellow stain on the ceiling that I hope is the yoke. The window is open and two oven mitts are discarded on the floor beneath it. There’s also an empty bottle of disinfectant in the sink. I furrow my brow at the trickle of red cleaner that oozes from its nozzle.

 

“What’s with the cleaner?” Madge asks and laughs, but bits of our conversation last night return to me now.

 

“I think we baked a poisonous strawberry pie for Brigham,” I say uncertainly. Madge covers her mouth with her hands as her eyes go wide.

 

“I think you’re right,” she whispers. We both turn around, searching the counters and finding no pie. Then we both look at the empty windowsill, curtains fluttering in the breeze.

 

“But where’s the pie?” Madge asks in a squeak.

 

“I don’t know. Probably in the trash,” I say, my cranium throbbing with worry and the ringing of my phone. My mother again. I hit ignore and look around the kitchen for some of Madge’s insta-coffee. Her house phone starts ringing then and I cut her off before she can answer it. “I can almost guarantee that it’s my mother and you don’t need to listen to her bitching about how I’m the worst daughter in the world, so let me get it.”

 

I answer before she can argue. “Mama, I told you’d I’d be by later.”

 

“Margaret, there’s something in your backyard,” a voice that is definitely not my mother’s whispers.

 

“This isn’t Margaret, can I tell her who’s calling?” I say, drudging up my manners so that no one calls to complain or kick my mother out of shuffleboard club or whatever she has this weekend.

 

“Katniss Everdeen, is that you? I thought you were back in town. Whiskers has been so upset since last night. He’s pacing my fence and hissing at something in Margaret’s back yard. Or maybe he’s just traumatized from last night and knows you’re in the house.”

 

I sigh when I realize that it’s Eustice Ripper on the other end, Madge’s closest neighbor and the owner of the cat who peed on me last night, along with at least a half dozen other flea bitten felines who roam the block and defecate outside like they’re dogs.

 

“Whiskers peed on me and then tried to claw me last night,” I tell her.

 

“He would never! What did you do to threaten him?”

 

“Ms. Ripper--” I start to explain that I didn’t do a damn thing to her cat, that he peed first, but she cuts me off.

 

“Is Margaret there? Whiskers is really agitated. And my eyesight might not be what it used to but I can see something in her grass.”

 

I open my mouth to snap that Ripper’s eyesight has never “been what it used to be.” That’s how she justifies keeping a set of binoculars on every window sill and using them to spy on her neighbors. But now Elvira Thompson’s dog has started barking from the other side of the house.

 

“You sure it’s not Blue agitating Whiskers?”

 

“No honey, Elvira just now let him out. She’s been sleeping later and later, poor dear. And Blue never barks, so I  _ know _ something’s wrong.”

 

“What’s going on?” Madge asks when I roll my eyes and then wince at the pain that causes. I quickly tell her about the nosy neighbors, the psychotic cat, and the agitated dog. Madge shakes her head but shuffles to the next room, further back in the house.

 

“Blue was barking for two hours last night,” I remind Ripper and she  _ tsks _ at me.

 

“He probably knew you were home too. I’ll bet he remembers what you did to Elvira’s prize geraniums.”

 

Does anyone in this town forget anything ever? I want to yell, but that will only make my headache even worse.

 

“I’ve already called Sheriff Mellark,” she tells me when I can’t come up with a witty retort. “But Whiskers is so upset and I hate to bother Mayor Tate but I saw his car in the driveway last night and know he’s home early from his meeting. Have him go check it out. It looks like a deer or some kind of dead animal. Have you been poaching again, Miss Everdeen? You’re not even home twenty-four hours and already you’re breaking laws and upsetting everyone. Anyways, Whiskers loves Mayor Tate. He’d never urinate on him or hiss at him. So have him check. I can’t have Whiskers getting any more upset. He needs to come inside for his nap and I’ll never get him to sleep if he doesn’t calm down.”

 

“Mayor Tate isn’t home right now, but I’ll look into it. Thank you; have a lovely day,” I practically snarl and then hang up before she can argue with me.

 

“Katniss, it’s…” Madge’s voice chokes on emotion and she looks like she’s going to cry again. She always did have a soft spot for animals and I’m wondering if maybe the dead one in the backyard is Leevy Gerard’s great dane, Sprint. It’d explain the missing pie and both Blue and Whiskers’ reactions. I rub my temples as Madge flounders for words.

 

“I’ll go see what it is Madge, just...sit down or start some of that insta-coffee because I’m getting close to just shotgunning that crap.”

 

“But it’s--” a knock on the front door cuts her off and I groan. Her eyes go wide in shock and fear and I’m guessing she’s worried about Brigham returning to put up another fight.

 

“Don’t move. I’ll get it. It’s probably just Ripper, come to tell me off for hanging up on her. Please just make the coffee.” I move towards the door, but I’m worried about Madge and how pale she’s getting. Turning the deadbolt and opening the door, I find Peeta on the other side. I open my mouth to yell at him, but he holds up an orange metal tumblr and my words die in my throat.

 

“I left here ten minutes ago to bring you this because I know Madge only stocks instant, and while I’m taking care of that, I get a call from the station with a complaint filed against you by Eustice Ripper. I can’t even leave you for ten minutes without hell breaking loose?” He sighs, but pushes the mug into my hands. I drink before thinking about what I’m doing. 

 

“I’m sorry it’s not as good as your Daily Fix, but it’s the best I could do without driving clear out of the county,” he says. It’s okay,  _ definitely _ not as good as my Daily Fix, but certainly better than Madge’s instant. I’m not telling  _ him _ that, though. I don’t care how sweet it is that he brought me a peace offering. Or that it sounds like he actually did what he said he’d do and parked his car outside to watch the house all night after meeting with Brigham, a possibility made more evident by the circles under his eyes and the way he keeps tilting his neck like he’s trying to remove a crick from it. Still, he’s a lying liar-face and I won’t let how good he looks in that stupid uniform he’s once more wearing muddle my thinking. Or his dimples. Or his stupidly gorgeous blue eyes. Or the sweetly expectant look in them as he waits for my verdict. He has a lot of explaining to do. Starting now.

 

“Um, sheriff...you’re gonna want to come to the back yard,” a male voice says. Peeta turns towards the sound and I peer around him at another man in a sheriff’s uniform. I blink dumbly because he’s tall and willowy, unlike Peeta’s medium height and stocky build. Dark skinned with black hair kept long. Like my father. 

 

“Katniss, this is Thom Buckley, one of my deputies. He just moved here a few months ago, so I thought I’d bring him out here this morning to meet you. Since he’ll probably be returning often in response to complaints,” Peeta smiles at me, bringing out that dimple and I grip the mug, glaring at him to keep from tossing the scalding liquid in his face. Pretty sure that would get me arrested on sight.

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Deputy Buckley,” I say instead. “Pay no attention to Sheriff Mellark. He inhaled too much paint fumes as a child. We try to overlook it, though, bless his heart.”

 

“Nice to meet you, too, ma’am,” Thom says but he doesn’t laugh or smile. He just looks worried. 

 

“Sheriff, is everything alright? My mom sent me over to check on Blue. He’s been barking all morning!” A teenaged kid rides up on a bike and I smile for the first time today.

 

“Eddy Summers?” I ask brightly. “I used to babysit you! Katniss Everdeen? Look at how much you’ve grown up!”

 

Eddy’s face goes pale and his eyes widen. He turns his bike around and starts to leave. “Sorry Miss Everdeen! My Mama says I can’t talk to you because you’re a bad influence!”

 

He rides off before Peeta can answer his questions and both sheriff and deputy look at me like I’m some kind of monster.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I shout. “It’s not my fault he wouldn’t stop quoting  _ Mean Girls _ and calling his mother a whore! That was years ago! Doesn’t anyone around here forget anything?”

 

“Sure,” Peeta says smoothly. “People around here forget things all the time. Like the person who falsely confessed to setting the chemistry lab on fire in tenth grade so you wouldn’t get your fifth detention for the year and get suspended. Or who gave you the name for your coffee shop.”

 

_ Motherfucker! _

 

I stand on the porch, dumbly staring at Peeta as he shakes his head and smiles a little. I had completely forgotten about all those things. And a few others that come flooding back at me in the seconds while Peeta looks away from me. He did used to shyly tease me about needing my daily fix when I’d show up to school with a coffee and other kids had Mountain Dew or Gatorade with their breakfasts. And years later, when it came time for me to pick a name for my business, that’s the first phrase that popped into my head. I can’t believe that I forgot it came from Peeta. No wonder he’s been such a pain in my ass since I got back.

 

Wonderful. Now I owe him  _ two  _ apologies. May as well start a logbook.

 

“About the backyard, sheriff?”

 

“Katniss,” Madge says urgently, tugging on my sleeve. I jump and nearly scald myself with the coffee. I didn’t even hear her walk up to me.

 

“What’s in the backyard?” I say in frustration. First Ripper and now Deputy Buckley. And Madge is freaking me out with her behavior. She pulls me back inside the house as Peeta clomps down the stairs to talk to his deputy. 

 

“Katniss, we  _ killed _ him,” Madge whispers frantically.

 

“What are you talking about?” 

 

“The pie, Katniss. Oh my god, the _ pie _ . We  _ killed  _ him.”

 

“Not possible, Madge. How would we have gotten him to eat the damn thing? We were plastered last night.”

 

“I know but somehow we did. It’s gone! It’s not in the trash or the oven! Or  _ anywhere!  _ We  _ killed _ him.”

 

The dog is still barking and I take another gulp of my barely passable coffee because I have a feeling that I’m going to need it as we scurry towards the laundry room and duck down below the window sill. From here, we can see a section of yard on the corner of the house, so not quite the back. I can see Whiskers wriggling in Ripper’s arms as she waves at Peeta and Thom from behind her fence.

 

“Sheriff! Is it a deer? I asked that no good Everdeen girl if she’d been poaching again but she hung up on me.”

 

“Morning, Eustice. Go on back inside and take care of Whiskers. I’ll let you know what we find,” Peeta says cheerfully. But there’s a tense set to his shoulders as he and Thom approach the lump in the grass. I get my first good look at it and cover my mouth with my hand. Because I know what dead deer look like. And that’s no deer. It’s greyish and smooth, for one. No pelt. And it looks suspiciously like a man’s suit-clad body.

 

“Oh my god,” I whisper and Madge yanks on my arm.

 

“We killed him, didn’t we? Oh my god, we’re  _ murderers _ !” Madge panics. I shake my head and grip her arms as we sit on the floor.

 

“No. We didn’t really mean to feed him the pie. It was a stupid, anger and alcohol filled joke.”

 

“Brigham is  _ dead _ , Katniss, what kind of joke is that?” she squeaks and I shake her a little.

 

“We don’t know that’s him out there,” I suggest and she groans in agony.

 

“Then we killed someone else?”

 

“I don’t know! But we didn’t murder anyone, okay. We’ve got to pull it together and..and..”

 

“Katniss,  _ look  _ at him,” she squeals and yanks us both upright so we have a better view of the yard. I stare out the laundry room window in time to watch Peeta stop beside the lump and shift the overgrown grass just enough to reveal Brigham Tate’s grotesquely pale face, eyes open and sightless in death, his mouth hanging open.


	7. Chapter 7

“Do you need anything, Madge?” Peeta asks for the fiftieth time this morning and I stiffen in an attempt to not fly apart with tremors while Madge pats my hand. 

 

“Not at the moment,” she says and he nods brusquely before heading back around to the yard.

 

“I’m fine, too, thanks for asking,” I grumble once he’s out of earshot.

 

Shortly after discovering Brigham’s dead body in the backyard, Peeta had left Deputy Buckley outside to corral the nosy neighbors in a section of Eustice Ripper’s yard where they’d be out of the way and unable to see what was going on, since the gossip mills of Twelve Willows would no doubt quickly turn rumors of a dead human body in Madge’s backyard into a complete circus. Meanwhile, Peeta had come inside the house to tell Madge what we already knew, that her husband was dead. He held her while she cried, and while she put on quite the show of grief, I think most of it was probably shock. Since then, he’s paused frequently in his work to ask how she’s doing, give her a hug, help her sit in the porch swing so we could get some fresh air and he could help keep an eye on her. Giving her hands a reassuring squeeze before he went to greet the coroner.

 

Maybe we should be more worried. You know, the two girls who baked a poisonous pie they can’t find and have a dead body in their backyard. But Wendell Reed isn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box. I have no idea how he managed to get a law degree and get himself appointed as the town’s coroner, but it’s a position he’s held for decades by now. In addition to his jobs bussing tables at Sae’s Soul Food, as the town’s one and only lawyer, and also the proprietor of what he claims is a mining equipment store but is really just a giant garage where he collects junk. Junk that he decorates with spray painted phallic shapes and brings to the annual art festival. So all in all, I feel much better about our odds of never wearing prison orange since he’s the one responsible for determining the cause of death.

 

What worries me more is the pile of stupid decisions I’ve made in the past twenty-four hours. Each time Peeta has checked on Madge, his eyes would skim over me, lingering for just a few seconds on my neck. Although he hasn’t said a word to me since the body was discovered, I feel his accusations in each glance. Stupid, stupid, stupid, Katniss. Alcohol and arrogance led me to face Brigham alone on the porch, and while it’s his body in the yard right now, the crisp spring morning air has sobered me to the reality of what I did last night. If Peeta hadn’t showed up when he did, it might’ve been my body Wendell Reed was examining right now. Or Madge’s. Or both.

 

I get that he’s angry with me for not recognizing him and probably for stupidly putting Madge in danger last night, but all of this is traumatic for me, too, and I certainly wouldn’t turn down a hug or a simple “how’re ya doing, Katniss.” At any given moment this morning, I’ve been torn between throwing something, screaming, crying uncontrollably, or jumping in my car to drive away. I am so far out of my element here and don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore. I’ve always just approached any problem I faced head on, but this is something different. And while I’m supposed to be the strong one right now, Madge is the one serenely pushing off with her foot every few minutes to keep the porch swing in motion while I’m about ready to yell at Peeta for something petty.

 

“You shouldn’t have put my name on that form,” I whisper to her. “Then none of this would have happened.”

 

When Madge doesn’t answer, I turn to look at her and am smashed into another wall of guilt. She’s still frighteningly pale, her eyes red and puffy from actually crying.

 

“You’ve just lost your husband, and I’ve put you in more danger, and all I want to do right now is claw out the eyes of someone I haven’t seen in ten years and who maybe once had a crush on me. Someone I couldn’t give two shits about,” I murmur and add my other hand to the pile so hers is held in between mine.

 

“You certainly don’t give two shits about him,” she says with a slight upturn of her lips. “I think you’re up to about twenty-five shits by now.” 

 

“Please keep your voice down or Eustice will tell everyone that I take twenty-five shits per day. It’ll be all over town by night fall.”

 

I glance towards Ripper’s yard where a small crowd has gathered, chatting and gesticulating towards the spectacle currently on display in Madge’s yard.

 

“But I’ve been sitting here assuming that you’re fine because Brigham was an abusive asshole and I haven’t thought to ask if you’re okay. I mean, you were married to him for six years, together for ten, right? You must have loved him at least a little, and I’m sorry I’ve been so selfish and insensitive,” I say quietly, swallowing back tears and guilt for what my friend must be feeling right now.

 

“You have no reason to apologize, Katniss,” she says quietly, but her eyes meet mine and don’t waver. “I don’t quite know what I’m feeling exactly. I mean there’s a little bit of fear and maybe some regret, but it’s strange. I saw his body. I know he’s gone. I keep saying it over and over in my head and every time I say it, I feel...lighter. I’ll never have to worry about the smallest things setting him off again. Or about listening to the sounds of his footsteps in the house to gauge his mood. Or lying to everybody. Mostly, I guess I just feel...relieved.”

 

With each word, she seems to sit straighter, the reemerging pillar of the girl I once knew. The girl who fabricated an insane story to explain the black bear chasing us down the main street of town. The girl who sweetly convinced the previous sheriff that Haymitch was seeing things under the influence of his famously strong moonshine, and that there was no way two girls had actually streaked through his pasture. Then she drops her eyes and folds back in on herself.

 

“There’s a part of me that’s wished he was dead every day for the past six years. Maybe even longer. And I married him and stayed with him anyways. Does that make me a terrible person?” she whispers.

 

I lean my head forward to press mine to hers, the way we used to do when we shared our deepest secrets and dreams. Our greatest fears. I wait for her gaze to flicker up to mine and am overcome with affection for her, my brave friend, so much braver than I’d thought, even as of yesterday.

 

“Ding dong, Brigham’s dead, honey. Wishing for it didn’t kill him, so no. You’re not a bad person. I think any of us would’ve wished him dead for what he did to you.” She smiles a little. “Baking poison into his favorite pie, however…”

 

Madge laughs and squeezes her eyes shut while I feel only slightly more confident about my ability to help her.

 

“What are we going to do if they test the contents of his stomach, Katniss? My kitchen is a mess of poison strawberry pie.”

 

“Don’t worry about the kitchen,” I tell her as I sit back up to watch Wendell Reed and Peeta talking in the yard. Wendell is motioning with his hands, as if explaining something, and Peeta nods solemnly. 

 

By the time Peeta made it into the house to break the news to us, I’d already puked up the contents of my stomach and cleaned up the kitchen as best I could while Madge paced the laundry room and generally lost her shit. Maybe I should’ve been trying to calm her down, but I’ve already screwed up enough. I’ll be damned if my friend goes to jail for baking that slime bucket exactly the poison he deserved.

 

“I cleaned up the mess after I puked,” I tell her and she looks worried again. “Everything’s in a garbage bag in the hall closet. I’ll burn it or something when we’re alone later.”

 

“Katniss, that’s illegal, isn’t it?”

 

“Did you forget who you’re speaking to?” If they take her for murder, guess they’ll just have to take me for conspiracy or aiding and abetting or whatever the hell it’s called.

 

Madge chuckles nervously, stopping herself as Wendell approaches us.

 

“Hey, Madge, do you happen to have one of those thingamabobs that you use when someone’s got a fever?”

 

“You mean a thermometer?” Madge asks and I try not to snort and dance in glee. Our odds are looking better by the second.

 

“Yeah, that’s the word! I just looked it up on Google and I guess I gotta take the temperature to figure out when Brigham died. But, uh, my thermometer thing’s not working. Keeps saying he died at 89.8 degrees.”

 

It takes a monumental effort to keep from laughing hysterically, and I can tell from Madge’s face that she’s fighting back her own mirth as well. She stands and nods, sedately walking back into the house with Wendell in trail, attempting to sound intelligent about his job. Ineptitude will save Madge, and I couldn’t be more relieved.

 

As soon as the door clicks shut behind them, however, a squeal of brakes draws my attention back to the street in front of the house and I suppress a groan as the beat up green pickup truck my mother’s owned since before I was born halts in a puff of dust and she gets out, slamming the door behind her. She stomps up the walkway and isn’t even on the porch before she gets started.

 

“Katniss Maureen Everdeen!  _ What  _ have you done this time?”

 

Unfortunately, my mother is just as beautiful and ethereal as always, her honey blonde hair expertly twisted into a French knot and pearls hanging around her throat. She’s never worn a stitch of makeup as far as I can remember. Her creamy skin lightly dotted with freckles on her cheeks, perfect pink lips, and envy inducing lashes all made it superfluous. A two time winner of the Twelve Willows beauty pageant, my mother has always been the toast of this town, and literally dozens of hearts were shattered when she married my father. Sometimes I think the real scandal was the dozens of men she turned down rather than the one that she accepted.

 

“My phone has been ringing off the hook all morning! First Eustice calls to tell me you’ve assaulted Whiskers, then she calls to say you’ve killed a deer in Madge’s back yard. Oh and then Starla Summers calls to say you’ve been corrupting Eddy again, and now it’s some nonsense about the sheriff crawling all over this house and Rupert Bristel claiming it’s because you’ve knocked over another gas station. Twenty hours of labor with you and you’re still making me suffer!”

 

She finally halts in front of me as I rub my temples and stand to face my mother. “Why is it that every time you think I’m in trouble, the amount of time you spent in labor with me goes up? If I hadn’t left for ten years and restarted your count, we’d be up to six weeks of labor by now.” 

 

“Don’t sass me, young lady. You might be a fancy, successful, city business woman, but I’ll still ground you.” 

 

Despite her harsh tone, she wraps her arms around me and runs her hand over my messy braid. She sways a little, rocking me as though I’m still eight and just scraped a knee climbing Daniel McPherson’s apple trees for a haul of freshly pilfered fruits. I melt a little in her embrace and find myself returning it, somehow knowing that despite our differences, she still loves me unconditionally. I rest my cheek on her shoulder and inhale the fresh scent of her lavender soap, and I suddenly wonder why I stayed away for so long. Phone calls and visits from her once every year just don’t seem like enough anymore in this moment when I realize just how much I’ve been needing a hug from my mother.

 

“Lilly! Did you ask her if she came back to steal Sheriff Mellark away from Delly?” Pamela Cartwright shouts from Eustice Ripper’s yard.

 

“They were looking mighty cozy on the porch this morning!” Ripper joins the conversation, first shouting then muttering loudly. “I hope he doesn’t fall for her tricks. You should’ve seen the way she yelled at Whiskers last night. Can you imagine how she’d treat a husband? And with her always breaking the law...land sakes, the poor man would never get a rest.” 

 

I stiffen in my mother’s arms as low, muffled laughter reaches my ears right before the clomping of boots on the porch. She releases me and I glare at Peeta, but my mother smiles happily at him.

 

“Morning, Lilly. You look lovely as always,” he greets her and my mother blushes, patting her hair as I gawk at her. I’ve only ever seen her blush when my father talks to her.

 

“Morning, Peeta,” she says warmly. “I hope my daughter’s not causing you too much trouble so soon after she got back in town. What on earth is going on here?”   
  


Peeta’s eyes flash up to mine, down to my neck, and then back to my mother before I can figure out what the hell the quick look in his eyes means. I immediately bring my hand up to my neck and tug the collar of my shirt higher to hide the marks Brigham left there. My mother probably didn’t notice them, too intent on hugging and scolding me and then too focused on the annoyingly flirtatious sheriff. Otherwise, she’d be raising hell about it and giving the neighbors more fodder for their gossip.

 

But this glance from Peeta is just like all the other ones he’s given me all morning, the same indecipherable expression on his face, right before he ignores me in favor of asking Madge how she’s doing. The selfish part of me that’s screaming at me to run takes over and I scowl. Is it really so much to ask for some compassion? The guy I threatened to choke with his own balls and who choked me almost to death last night is now dead in the back yard.

 

“Katniss has been causing trouble for me a lot longer than just the past day,” he says and my mother giggles. Actually giggles.

 

“Don’t you have something better to do than flirt with my mother?” I ask him irritably before I remember that the something better he needs to be doing is examining the dead body in the back yard. The possibly poisoned by strawberry and disinfectant pie dead body.

 

Peeta smiles at me and leans closer to me. Close enough for me to feel the warm puff of his breaths on my cheek and for the hairs on my neck to stand alert at his proximity. I even catch a whiff of his soap. Something faintly spicy like cinnamon or nutmeg and sweet heaven, he smells good enough to eat. I have to remind myself that my mother is three feet away or I might throw my arms around him and kiss him, ecstatic and starving for even the slightest sign of compassion from him. And then I can punch him for fraternizing with Brigham last night.

 

“Don’t tell your mother anything just yet,” he whispers. “At least not until Wendell’s finished and I have a little more information. Oh and don’t leave town either. I’ll need you to come down to the station later to answer a few questions.”

 

My stomach drops to my toes as he pulls away, and without even so much as a backwards look at me, nods to my mother, repeating her name as a farewell, and heads back into the backyard. 

 

“He is  _ such _ a nice young man,” my mother says. 

 

I glare at her as she watches him walk away and reassure the gawking neighbors that everything is just fine and he’ll come back to talk to them as soon as possible.

 

“Stop scowling, Katniss. You look like you want to choke someone. Have you had coffee yet this morning?” she says when she finally manages to stop ogling Peeta’s ass. “Come on, Flower, let’s go find Madge and I’ll take you girls to Sae’s. Then you can tell me what’s going on in your yard and why I’m the last one to know you’ve got the hots for Peeta Mellark. Not that I can blame you. He grew up so well and always was kinda sweet on you.”

 

She takes my hand in hers and I fume over yet another person suggesting that Peeta had a crush on me when we were kids. Does  _ everyone _ believe this farce? And can’t anyone see it’s a stupid thing to be concerned with when there is  _ a dead body _ in the backyard?! She drags me towards the door, waving to the gathered crowd across the yard and cupping her other hand over her mouth to yell.

 

“Don’t worry! I’ll find out all the juicy details and get back to ya! This girl needs her coffee first or she’s liable to murder everyone!”

 

And there’s the reason I haven’t been home in ten years right there. My face flames as I hope my mother doesn’t mind visiting me in prison rather than Philly. Between her announcement that I’d murder over a cup of coffee, and my ball choking threat last night, and Brigham’s dead body in the back yard...maybe the odds aren’t so great for me.


	8. Chapter 8

“I’ve got my eye on you, fleabag,” I mutter as I kneel on the couch backed against one of the windows and stare out at Whiskers as he slinks through Madge’s rose bushes. He lifts his head, eyes glowing eerily in the streetlights as he searches the side of the house, as though he heard me and is searching for the source of his imminent demise. I sigh and try not crawl out of my skin. It’s only been one full day back in town and I’m already going berserk.

 

After all the chaos of the day, I am grateful that the neighbors finally went back to their homes. And I grudgingly have to admit that Peeta was instrumental in keeping things from getting out of hand. He kept the town distracted and out of the way, saw to it that Brigham’s body was covered with a tarp after Wendell had finished, and came inside to soothingly tell Madge as he gently held her hands that they were going to wait until after dark, when everyone had left, to move the body. Knowing that such a spectacle would cause a frenzy in the town and just make things more traumatic for Madge, I have to admit he handled the situation in the best way possible. 

 

He also managed to make up a fantastic story about how he and his deputies were using the back yard as a site for a training exercise and Madge and I had offered to help if they needed it. Which not only kept my mother from dragging us to lunch at Sae’s and grilling us until we spilled the whole story, but it also got her out of the house before she saw Madge’s face up close and the heavy makeup she’d applied to hide her bruises. Not before Mama informed me that if I didn’t come out to the house to see her tomorrow, she’d remove me from her will and give everything to Prim, though.

 

Then Peeta checked on Madge every ten minutes, talking in a calm and soothing voice that left even my legs feeling like pudding, and he answered the house phone if he was inside so she wouldn’t have to field nosy gossips, and then he sent Thom to bring back enough groceries to feed us for a week so we don’t have to leave and brave the harrowing aisles of the supermarket.

 

Once the body had been moved, he came back inside to check on Madge one last time, suggesting she take a refreshing shower and then get some sleep, if she could. Madge had followed his advice, leaving me to knock around her house and try not to pull out all my hair.

 

Okay, so some of what Peeta did today helped me, too. He made sure Thom actually brought us some halfway decent coffee grounds, and avoiding lunch with my mother also meant escaping all her prying questions about me and Peeta. But whatever, just because he took care of Madge doesn’t erase the fact that he’s a jerk-face who basically ignored me all day after being an insufferable flirt for the entire day previous and a Lying McLiarson who still owes me an explanation for last night. Then there’s that comment about not leaving town and asking me questions like he’s trying to control me or thinks that I’m guilty.

 

...Holy fuck nuggets! He thinks I’m guilty!

 

A thousand awful possibilities and certainties race through my head. Did he see me through the windows as I cleaned up the kitchen and our poison baking mess? Were there red stains and poison pie remnants on Brigham’s body when he examined it? He was there last night when Brigham hit me, but for how long before Peeta body slammed him to the porch? Did Peeta hear me threaten to choke Brigham with his own balls? Even if he didn’t, he certainly heard me demand his gun so I could shoot Brigham in the crotch and then he could shoot him in the head. Oh my god, the sheriff of this town heard me threaten to murder the mayor who then showed up dead in the backyard this morning.

 

I am close to panicking over the certainty that Peeta knows I’m guilty of murder -- because unlike Wendell Reed, Peeta’s not an idiot -- when Whiskers pads out from the bushes and squats to defecate in Madge’s yard.

 

“Are you seriously giving me a stink eye and taking a dump on the roses, you psychotic maggot? You are so lucky I still don’t have my bow or you’d be target practice!”

 

“Could you please refrain from killing the neighbor’s cat? I cannot deal with another phone call from Eustice complaining about you.”

 

I whip my head around and my body follows, nearly sending me to the floor when I hear Peeta’s voice behind me. He’s leaning against the doorframe between the front hallway and Madge’s living room, arms crossed and making the dark blue shirt he’s wearing strain in an attempt to contain his biceps. He’s out of his uniform again, wearing the same faded jeans and boots he had on at the hospital yesterday morning. He shoves off the doorframe and stuffs his hands in his pockets, tugging his jeans down just enough to tease me into wondering if his abs are as toned as the rest of him and whether or not he still sometimes works in his dad’s bakery in town. I remember him tossing hundred pound sacks of flour over his shoulder like they contained feathers instead, or lifting heavy bread trays over his head to maneuver through the cramped spaces of the store front, but the obvious flex of his muscles beneath his skin is new. Or maybe I was too oblivious to notice all those years ago.

 

“How the hell did you get in here?” I ask and am quite proud of getting that out rather than asking if I can lick the tendon in his neck and let him toss me over his shoulder like those sacks of flour. I blame my overworked and exhausted brain for my inability to think or speak clearly around him. I did help my best friend bake a poisonous pie and then left it in an open window to cool while her abusive husband and possibly an unknown murderer were on the loose in town. Clearly I can’t be trusted.

 

He walks into the room, running his hand through his hair and messing up the waves a little. For some reason, this small nervous gesture makes me smile.

 

“I turned the handle and opened the front door,” he says as he sits on the couch and looks up at me expectantly. Great, another stupid mistake on my part. At least there’s this, though, if he really believed in my guilt, he’d have come in uniform and already have me cuffed. Cautiously, I sit next to him and his smile fades. “You should probably keep the doors locked, seeing as how the owner of this house was just murdered.”

 

“M-murdered?” I ask stupidly. “Are you sure?”

 

He lifts his right hand and pinches the bridge of his nose, nodding before dropping his hand in his lap. If he were smirking at me, I might think this was funny, because haha! He just suggested we lock the doors to protect ourselves, but the murderers are already in the house. Oh and I should refrain from committing any further murders.

 

“I can’t say much because we’ll need to conduct an official investigation, but yes. Brigham Tate was definitely murdered.” His voice drops off and he glances towards the stairs. I realize that he’s worried about Madge overhearing.

 

“She’s racked out. Fell asleep hours ago. After the day she’s had, a freight train could roll through the living room and I’m not sure it’d wake her,” I reassure him.

 

Peeta nods and looks down at his hands in his lap, twisting his fingers together in a seemingly random pattern. Since he’s not focused on me, I take the chance to stare at him without him making some aggravating comment about me picturing him naked. Which I’m most definitely not doing, by the way.

 

This close, I can see just how exhausted he is. His wavy hair is messed up on top and one side, and I can easily picture him raking his hand through it in frustration, like he used to do in trigonometry when he didn’t understand what Ms. Wiress was explaining to us. Part of that may be because she mumbled and talked in her own sort of nonsense language, but Peeta was never the best at math. His strengths lay elsewhere. Literature, art, baking, sports, and apparently turning me into a pile of mush.

 

As I sit here, looking at the downturn of his lips, the pinched skin around his eyes, and the intense way he’s staring at his hands, it strikes me how hard this must be on him, too. He’s sworn to protect this town, and it’s most prominent citizen wound up murdered today. Now he has to not only take care of and protect Madge, but also find a way to break it to the town that their beloved mayor has been killed. Not to mention that since the most exciting crime to happen in this town until today was some alleged streaking and a self-inflicted gunshot wound, he’s backed by a staff who probably has no idea how to handle a murder investigation. And I feel guilty for thinking he’s a jerk all day long just because I’m scared witless and he didn’t dote on me the way he did on Madge.

 

“You’ve had a long day, too. Haven’t you?” I murmur, twisting on the couch so I can tuck my feet up on the cushion and face him fully.

 

“You have no idea…” he trails off as he lifts his head to finally look at me. 

 

His blue eyes stare straight into mine, and even though they’re tired and have seen far too much today, they’re still hypnotic. And I can’t bring myself to look away from him. I actually lean towards him a little and discover that he still smells like a damned Christmas pastry. Soft and warm. Inviting. 

 

“How about you?” he asks in honeyed tones that match his scent. “How are you doing?”

 

There’s honest concern in his voice, but for some reason it triggers the wrong part of my exhausted brain and I narrow my eyes at him.

 

“Oh so  _ now _ you’re worried about me? After you spend the entire day ignoring me and never once showed concern for  _ my _ well-being? By all means, though, do be kind to me now that the most traumatic forty-eight hours of my life are almost over!”

 

I shove myself off the couch, no longer able to sit still, and pace in front of him while he just sits there and watches me.

 

“I’ve never seen a dead body before today, and certainly not the body of someone I know, let alone my best friend’s dead husband! But don’t worry about me! I’m completely fine! I only left behind my entire life to come back to this dump heap town where everyone hates me even after I've been gone for a decade, all to take care of a friend who oh by the way, was also getting the snot kicked out of her for the past six years by her useless sack of shit husband! Then he gets himself killed in the backyard!”

 

I don’t look at Peeta while I rant because I know that if I look at him and he’s still got that look of concern in his eyes, I’ll melt in a puddle at his feet, completely at his mercy. And if he’s looking at me like the crazy person I’m acting like, I’ll spin off into a world of pissed off that I won’t be able to come back from or fix the damage I cause.

 

“I can’t cry, I can’t scream, I can’t break down or show a second of weakness because my friend needs me to be the strong one right now. But it’s all good. It’s not like I care enough about the asshole to shed a tear about him! I’d at least like the option though, or for someone to make sure that  _ I’m  _ doing okay. And I’m sorry I bruised your damn ego by not recognizing you when I was exhausted and scared and furious all at once and it’s been ten years since I saw you and late onset puberty did a fucking number on your face and whatever the hell else I’ve done to piss you off, but all I’ve gotten since I set foot in this town is lectured, choked, gossiped about, berated, and ignored so if you--”

 

My words end in a squeak as Peeta’s warm hand wraps around mine and before I even realize what’s happening, he’s pulling me to him and then his arms are around me, my face and chest pressed into his. His hands slide up my back and then down. Over and over as I heave in a pathetic attempt to breathe and end up just inhaling his scent and gripping his shirt in my hands in case he decides to let me go before I’m ready. The weight of his chin rests on top of my head, and my mind finally stops. I choke back a sob and stand rigid in his arms, trying to keep myself held together. He’s so warm and steady as a rock, though, that ever so slowly, the tension leeches from my body. 

 

Eventually, I flatten my palms on his chest and tip my head back to look at him, scared of what I’ll find in his eyes. He stares at my neck, a parade of emotions flickering across his eyes as he brings one hand around to brush over the spots where I know Brigham left his fingerprints in bruises on my skin.

 

“Do you have any idea how much control it took last night to remember that I’m supposed to be an officer of the law and that I couldn’t just bash his skull to a pulp right there on the porch when I saw him put his hands on you?” Peeta asks, his voice low and rough. My mouth drops open slightly as I shake my head. “I’ve had a pretty good idea for years as to what that fucker was doing to Madge. But I couldn’t legally do a thing about it unless she told me or someone reported it or he finally snapped and hit her in front of a witness. She deflected all of my hints, outright lied when I asked her straight up. The same laws that are supposed to protect people, tied my hands instead and I couldn't protect her because of it. Do you know how helpless that made me feel?”

 

This time, I nod and bring my own hand up to trace over what is now unblemished pale skin along his jaw, but my fingers know the shape of the bruise his mother once left there. His jaw quivers under my touch. Does he remember? He must. He remembers so many other things I was certain he’d forget. That I made myself forget when I left here. 

 

“But all those years of frustration and helplessness were nothing compared to the rage I felt when I  _ saw  _ him hurt you,” he says as his hand shifts to cup my cheek. “I’m sorry I didn’t check on you or ask how you were doing today. You’ve always been the strongest person I know, and I didn’t think you needed or wanted anyone to take care of you.”

 

Something flutters in my chest, warm and curious at his words. Peeta thinks I’m strong? It makes no sense. Not when I’ve seen him endure years under his mother’s fists, take down someone twice his weight in wrestling, and show kindness to almost every person in this town. But I lean into his touch because his words are exactly what I need to hear right now.

 

“You ignored me because you thought I didn’t need anyone?” I whisper and his lips twitch for a second and then slowly curl into a smile.

 

“That was part of it.”

 

“What was the other part?” I ask, confused about what’s happening between us. I haven’t seen him in ten years, and even then, we weren’t good friends or anything, not really. And yet, I feel some kind of primal need to get closer to him, to feel the words on my lips when he says them.

 

“Because I was in uniform and working, but I knew that if you showed even the slightest hint that you were about to go to pieces, I might not be able to keep from doing this, something I’ve wanted to do for years.”

 

“You’re just holding me, Peeta,” I say, trying to tease him as my hands fist in his shirt again and I am certain he’s not talking about just a hug. His nose brushes over mine and all the air is sucked from the room, which is surely the explanation for why my brain stops functioning altogether and I lift up on my toes to press my mouth to his.

 

He doesn’t close his eyes. We stand there, joined at the mouth and staring at one another, bewildered. It’s a bucket of ice dumped over my head.

 

_ Shit shit shit shit SHIT! What was I thinking? _

 

I pull back as heat floods my cheeks and I search for an explanation for why I just kissed him. Before I can get anywhere on forming an excuse, though, his hand shifts to cradle the back of my head, fingers catching slightly on my hair, and he brings my lips back to his.

 

And holy  _ shit _ .

 

Peeta’s mouth is warm and insistent on mine, as though seeking an answer to a question I don’t know. His lips coax mine into moving together with his and I melt at the tender assault on my senses. I’m not sure how long we stand there kissing, and really, I don’t care. How have I known him my entire life and not known the feel of his mouth on mine? All the ways his lips can turn my legs to pudding. It’s surreal. That soft hitch in his breath right before his teeth nip my lower lip then he sucks on it to soothe the bite. Or maybe I make that sound.

 

He tilts his head and when my lips part on a moan, his tongue takes a taste. Just a small sample until I yank on his shirt and flick my own tongue over his to let him know I want more of that. Because I do. Sweet heavens do I want more of that.

 

We feast on each other’s mouths and ragged breaths. I’m about two seconds from hopping up in his arms and wrapping my legs around him when his palm on my back slides lower, until just his fingertips slip beneath my jeans. I feel the scorching heat of them on the swell of my ass, and I whimper, letting him hold me closer to him. He groans, low in his throat, and I nearly squeak at the feel of his erection pressing into my belly.

 

And while I haven’t been with many men, Peeta feels harder and certainly bigger than any others I’ve come in contact with. But for some reason, instead of focusing on how good this all feels and how this is probably the hottest kiss of my entire life, my fatigued brain chooses to dredge up a long-dormant memory of awkward teenage Peeta Mellark in a wrestling singlet, hands strategically folded over his groin, and I wonder if that was to hide an inconvenient boner. Once the thought is in my head, I can’t seem to get rid of it. 

 

And I laugh. I laugh right in his mouth before I can stop the sound.

 

Peeta yanks his head back and stares down at me while I slap my hand over my mouth and try not to make it worse, because I’m pretty sure I catch a flash of hurt in his eyes before he lifts one eyebrow at me.

 

“Not to be cocky or anything, but I don’t think I’ve ever gotten that response from kissing someone before,” he deadpans and I snort behind my hand.

 

“I’m sorry! It’s not funny, I just--” but I’m still laughing and snorting because he said “cocky” and this is not how I expected kissing Peeta Mellark to go. Not at all. “Your hand’s about to touch my butt.”

 

It’s a diversion tactic so he doesn’t figure out what I’m really thinking about.

 

“Something wrong with that?” he asks with a grin that brings out his dimples.

 

“Doesn’t seem fair,” I say breathlessly. “My hands are trapped here on your chest.”

 

“I thought you liked my rock solid chest. But for the record, you can touch my butt anytime you feel like it and I won’t object,” he says, but his eyes narrow at me and his hand slides further into my jeans to grip my ass, hauling me closer. He turns us and effortlessly lifts me to lay me on the couch, my legs falling open enough for him to settle between them and I gasp as his dick presses right into my center. “Still feel like laughing?”

 

What’s laughing? Who’s laughing?

 

I shake my head and move my hands to wrap around his waist. His shirt has ridden up his back enough for me to get my hands on bare skin. And god, he’s so  _ warm. _ He dips his head and starts kissing me right below my ear, his voice hoarse and demanding as he rotates his hips, grinding down into me, and even if I could remember what words were, I’m not sure I could string two coherent ones together.

 

“How about now?” he asks and my hands flex on his back in response to the tingling his voice alone causes. I still don’t trust myself to speak, though, so I just lift my hips up into his and he gets the point. His mouth trails kisses over my neck to my jaw as he rocks his hips into mine and I nearly combust with the heat. When his lips reach mine again, his palm flexes on my ass, pulling me into him, hard. And I swear I’ve never felt more alive than in this moment.

 

We move together, hips rocking and grinding as his tongue once more massages mine. I wrap my legs around him and use my heels to spur him on. He groans, the sound vibrating in my mouth. I slide my hands up his back, his shirt catching on my fingers until I let it go so I can grab fistfuls of his hair and hold him right here so he never stops kissing me. His hair is so soft beneath my palms and I’m so lost in the moment, in the feel of him against me, that I don’t hear the creak on the stairs until it’s too late.

 

“OH MY GOD!” Madge screeches and Peeta jumps away from me too fast for either of us to neatly untangle ourselves. Our movements dump me on the floor with a shout of protest as he throws his hands in the air like he’s being held at gunpoint.

 

“I didn’t know you were awake! I didn’t know Peeta was here! Oh my god!”

 

I glare up at Peeta as he mouths the word  _ Sorry  _ to me before helping me off the floor. I toss his hand aside when I’m upright, pissed off that he’d dump my ass so unceremoniously on the floor and hurt it like that after he seemed so fond of it just now.

 

Madge is still rambling, her hand covering her face and I huff before stomping towards her.

 

“You can stop covering your eyes now,” I grumble. “Show’s over.”

 

“We didn’t wake you, did we Madge?” Peeta asks, sheepishly running his hand through his hair and pissing me off even more because I should be doing that right now.

 

“No! Not at all,” Madge says. “I just got up to get something to drink and I had no idea, so um, I’ll just go back upstairs and you two can continue with whatever.”

 

“We’re done with whatever,” I mutter as I pry her hands away from her face.

 

“We are not even close to being done,” Peeta says behind me and Madge laughs as I roll my eyes and glare at him over my shoulder. He shrugs, and he’s sporting a stupid grin I’d really like to wipe off his lips.

 

There’s a knock on the front door. I move to answer it, but Peeta gets there long before I can take two steps, asking who it is.

 

“It’s Thom. I saw your car out front. You got a few minutes?”

 

Peeta opens the door and motions for Thom to step inside, but he takes one look at Madge and I and shakes his head.

 

“Maybe we should discuss this outside. It’s about Mayor Tate’s autopsy.” The last of it is whispered, but Madge and I are close enough to still hear.

 

“Autopsy?” Madge asks, and I can hear the note of panic in her voice. I grip her hand and turn to face her, looking straight into her eyes so she knows not to give anything away when I tell her.

 

“Madge,” Peeta starts. “It turns out--”

 

“Brigham was murdered. It wasn’t an accident or health related,” I cut him off and squeeze her hands.

 

“Murdered? No!” she cries and then falls into me, sobbing hysterically.

 

“Dial it back, crazy. You don’t get an Oscar for this,” I whisper in her ear and she nods, slowly letting her fake cries taper off. I glance up at Peeta, who’s once more making a mess of his hair, and Thom’s looking anywhere but at us.

 

“I’m so sorry, Madge,” Peeta says sincerely. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but we had to run some preliminary tests on the cause of death first.”

 

She goes rigid in my arms and lets out another wail, which the sheriff and deputy in the doorway both take as caused by grief while I try to shush her.

 

“They don’t know about the pie yet,” I hiss in her ear, but I speak too soon because that’s when Thom steps further into the house to offer his condolences on her loss.

 

“I’m sorry as well, ma’am. We’re working as hard as we can to find the perpetrator and -- hey! Is that strawberry pie I smell?” He lifts his chin, attempting to catch the faint traces of a scent.

 

Oh my god, the garbage bag is still in the closet.

 

“Nope! No pie here!” I say and Madge lifts her head to nod in agreement.

 

“Absolutely not. I’m extremely allergic to strawberries. Can’t even touch the things,” Madge says as I move to stand next to her and fling my arm around her. We are stone cold solid and they won’t break us.

 

“You bake strawberry pies for the PTA bake sale every year. And the church bake sales, too,” Peeta says, his brow furrowing in confusion. “My dad tried to get the recipe from you four years ago to sell in his bakery.”

 

“Did he now?” I ask too loudly and squeeze her tightly to me. She stumbles a little and sobs nervously.

 

“Oh! I must have forgotten. With everything that’s happened today and all…” she trails off as the two of them stare at us. Then she wails and throws herself back into my arms. “I can’t believe he’s gone!”

 

I glare at them as they both cringe. My hand rubbing soothing circles over Madge’s back. “It’s been a long day. I think I should get Madge back to bed.”

 

Thom ducks his head and quickly leaves the house. Peeta, however, lingers a little bit, his gaze speculative and unnerving. Then he shakes his head and points a finger at me.

 

“Don’t go anywhere. We need to talk. First thing in the morning.”

 

I nod and consider yelling at him that I am not a cavewoman he can drag around by her hair and I will do what I please, but I seriously doubt that’s going to help me with the whole murder suspect thing. As soon as he’s shut the door and I hear his boots thump back across the porch, I shove Madge off my shoulder and shake her a little.

 

“You’re deathly allergic to the pies you bake every year for charity?!” I screech and she shakes her head at me.

 

“I panicked, okay! You don’t think they suspect, do you?”

 

“Oh I think they more than suspect,” I growl.

 

“I don’t know, they can’t be certain about it, right? Otherwise they’d have already arrested us both.” Her lips curl up in a sly smile and her eyes gleam. “And based on what I just walked in on, I don’t think Peeta’s planning to handcuff you anytime soon...or is he?”

 

I let go of her with a huff, although I’m starting to wonder about that very thing myself.

 

“Ha-ha. Ha-ha,” I scoff instead and open the hall closet to pull out the white garbage bag I hid in there earlier.

 

“What are you doing?” she asks.

 

“Sneaking out the laundry room window and burning the evidence,” I tell her. She nods, but the smirk is still on her lips.

 

“When you’re done with that, we need to discuss strategy. I figure that if you keep doing what you were doing just now, Peeta will be so busy with his tongue in your mouth and maybe other places that he won’t have time to arrest us.”

 

My cheeks heat and I toss her a glare before I stomp down the hall. “Eat me!”

 

“Nuh-uh,” Madge sings. “We want Peeta to eat you.”

 

I groan and ignore her laughter as it follows me, but the scary thing is, I’m actually thinking about what his tongue could do in places other than my mouth.


	9. Chapter 9

“Either you really don’t trust me with your baby or you actually took my advice and banged Sheriff Hot Buns.”

 

“Would you shut up for two seconds and listen to me? I’m in real trouble here, Jo,” I hiss and wave at Mary Jo Bristel across the parking lot. She shakes her head and returns the wave before climbing into her car.

 

“He was shitty, wasn’t he? Damn. It’s always the pretty ones who are all talk and no thrust.”

 

“I didn’t have sex with the Sheriff!” I shout and then cringe because Nelson Harris has halted on the stoop of his general goods store to gawk at me for a moment before he purses his lips and hurries back inside the building that’s in desperate need of a new coat of paint.

 

“What the hell have you been doing there, then?” Jo asks and I get a tight reign on my temper. And on the errant memories of Peeta thrusting between my legs and his hands on me and oh god, the way he kissed me. My dreams last night kept slipping between Peeta pleasuring me with that mouth of his and using it to read me my rights. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep well.

 

“I need to know how you’d feel about running Daily Fix for the foreseeable future. In case I...go to prison.” I whisper the last few words since I have no idea how many other residents of Twelve Willows are lurking around. In hindsight, the parking lot of Sae’s Soul Food probably wasn’t the best choice to have this conversation, but I didn’t want to drive and talk and break yet another law, although I doubt Twelve Willows has those kinds of laws on the books yet.

 

“Jesus, Kat. Just how kinky was he?”

 

“For the last time,” I say through gritted teeth. “I did  _ not _ have sex with Peeta.” 

 

_ Yet. _ Part of me whispers and I tell it to shut the hell up.

 

“Would you just spit it out then?” she asks in exasperation. I take a deep breath and close my eyes before I ramble out the news in one jumbled together word.

 

“Madge’shusbandwasmurderedyesterday.”

 

“Excuse me? I thought I just heard you say you murdered someone’s husband.”

 

“Not helping, Jo.”

 

“So who cares? Someone popped the asshole. If you ask me, he deserved it.”

 

“That’s not the point,” I whine.

 

“Although, it is kinda strange that he winds up dead the day after you show up in town.”

 

“Congratulations, you win the million dollar prize,” I mutter and kick the tire on Madge’s car. By now, I’m sure my mother has spotted me through the windows of Sae’s, but I need to take care of this now before things get more out of hand. “What do you think my odds are of surviving prison?”

 

“Mmmm, not that great. You’ve got a mean streak when you’re in coffee withdrawal, but you’re kinda small.”

 

“I’m tough, though,” I protest and Jo laughs.

 

“Honey, you’re fucking screwed. Hold on, I’ve got another call.” I silently fume that she’s blowing this off while she checks the number. She’s back on the line a second later. “Wierd. It was a West Virginia number. You’re the only hokie I know there.”

 

“Fuck, I am screwed,” I say as I start to panic again. “It was probably Peeta calling to ask you all sorts of revealing questions or call you in as a character witness or some shit like that. How long do you think it’d take for us to build a good story you could tell him? Maybe that’ll get me off the hook.”

 

“We don’t have that kind of time. But don’t worry, I’ll take care of your baby.”

 

“Still not helping,” I hiss. I glance up at the window and wave back to my mother through the glass, pointing to my phone so she knows that I’ll be in as soon as I finish this call. After a night of tossing and turning and fighting off my strange mix of wet-dream/nightmare, I crumbled like a stale cookie under my mother’s pressure to join her for breakfast at Sae’s rather than make the trip out to her house. 

 

Madge elected to stay at her house and loaned me her car, since we left mine parked at the hospital two days ago. She insisted that she would be fine by herself until I got back. She also said she wanted to get started on making the funeral arrangements for Brigham so that would be ready to go once Peeta finishes his investigation. Which is probably a good idea since I have no idea how easy it’d be to arrange a funeral from behind bars. And if Peeta’s calling Jo, then it means he definitely suspects we had  _ something  _ to do with the murder.

 

“I am being completely helpful,” she says smoothly. “And in exchange, I want a five percent raise, Daily Fix stock when the company goes public, and custody of Theo.”

 

“You could at least pretend to be upset about the possibility of my going to jail.”

 

“I’m a realist,” she deadpans. I start walking towards the door to Sae’s as she tells me that she’ll call me with an update on the voicemail the West Virginia number left her, after the morning rush dies down. We end the call and I drop my phone in my pocket with a sigh, and I gird my loins to face the vulture’s nest.

 

The bell above the door announces my entrance, and every head in the place lifts a second before the murmur of conversation and the scrapes of flatware on plates ceases. I make my way quickly towards the table where my mother sits. Sliding into my seat before she can say anything, I pick up the plastic menu covered in at least thirty years worth of sticky residue.

 

“They’re all staring at me,” I mutter once the talk around us has resumed.

 

“They’re staring because you haven’t been home to see your mother in ten years. They’re witnessing a miracle.”

 

“Mama, please,” I beg and glance up at her.

 

“Your father called this morning. He says he might be able to swing through town for a few days. So maybe you’ll stick around for that, yes?”

 

She blinks innocently at me and I try not to stab her with my fork. It’s a low move, bribing me to stay longer by dangling a visit from my dad in front of my face. Not that it really matters. If I get tossed in jail, I won't get to see much of him anyways. But it just goes to show you that my mother knows exactly how to get under my skin.

 

“Lilly, how’re ya doin’,” Glinda Marsh greets my mother as she steps up to the table. Glinda looks like an extra from a horror movie that starts in a 1950’s style diner. Her graying blonde hair tucked under a hair net and her face pinched in annoyance. Her teal uniform is already stained with grease and coffee and something green that I really don’t wanna know the source for. She’s been waitressing for Sae, her mother, since dinosaurs roamed the woods. “What can I getcha this morning?”

 

“A pepper and mushroom omelette, whole wheat toast, and an orange juice, thank you, Glinda,” my mother says with a lovely smile before she sets her own menu back on the table's rack. Glinda nods and writes down the order.

 

“Have it right out,” she says and starts to turn away from our table without so much as looking at me.

 

“I’d like to order something, too,” I say none too quietly. Someone’s fork behind me clatters noisily as Glinda turns back to the table.

 

“We don’t serve any snotty, over-priced coffee here,” she says simply.

 

“I’ll just have the same as my mother, thank you,” I say and try to keep the growl from my voice and pretend that I don’t feel like a bug under a microscope now that everyone in the restaurant is openly staring at me again and ignoring their food.

 

“Don’t worry Glinda. She won’t kill anyone over her coffee this morning. She’s too tired for that,” my mother says and pats my hand. There’s a collective gasp in the restaurant, but I’m too busy staring at the steel in my mother’s eyes as she stares down Glinda Marsh, the corners of her mouth pinched in a challenging frown, to look at any of them. 

 

The phone lines in Twelve Willows must have been ablaze all this morning to spread the word after Peeta had no choice but to release the news of Brigham’s murder. I am grateful that he at least called Madge to let her know that the word was out, so I knew what I was walking into by coming here. And while part of me wants to slide under the table and just not deal with their judgement this morning, another part of me is astonished and swelling with affection for my mother and her defense of me, as unusual as it is.

 

“Mayor Tate was a fine man. A lot of people just find it odd that he shows up dead the day after you get back in town,” Glinda says, finally speaking directly to me. My mother clucks her tongue and shakes her head.

 

“Oh Glinda, you know better by now in your wiser years than to listen to the gossips.”

 

“So it’s not true she had an altercation with Eustice’s Whiskers the other night?”

 

“He peed on my foot!” I protest and immediately wish I’d kept my mouth shut when the whispering picks back up around us. My mother squeezes my hand and keeps her gaze trained on Glinda.

 

“I heard Mayor Tate had a black eye and scratches all over his hand when they found his body. I suppose you didn’t have an altercation with him either?” Glinda asks leaning over me menacingly like she thinks she’s auditioning for the role of Bad Cop in a cheesy action flick.

 

And just like in said cheesy movie, the bell over the door rings right then and in walks Good Cop. Well, maybe not as  _ good _ as I’d once thought, seeing as how he spent last night making out with me, potential murderess and rebel extraordinaire. Also, I’m pretty certain that  _ Good Boys  _ don’t kiss like that. His entrance completely shifts the mood in the restaurant. People smile and call out greetings. The older men shake his hand, and Glinda leaves our table to bustle over to the take out window and sweep a paper sack into her arms before handing it to Peeta with a huge toothy grin on her stupid, wrinkled, judgy face. He takes his time, greeting all of the occupants and talking to a few of them before he finally makes it over to our table.

 

“Lilly, Katniss,” he says and one traitorous butterfly flutters in my stomach at how his voice drops a little on my name.

 

“Peeta, goodness! What happened to your hand?” My mother reaches out and grasps his left hand in hers, examining the knuckles as he blinks and tries to tug his hand back.

 

“Oh, just a stupid mishap with a flat tire,” he says. But his ears are turning pink and my mother’s hold on his hand gives me a chance to get a look at the dried scrapes and bruises on his knuckles. I stare back up at his face, willing him to look at me, so I can see it in his eyes, but he remains focused on my mother.

 

“You should’ve stopped by or called me. I’ve got a cream that’d help this heal right up,” my mother reminds him as he finally gets his hand out of her grip and shoves it in his pocket. My mind churns and I want to stand up and shout in triumph. Flat tire my ass!

 

Brigham supposedly had a black eye, huh? And Peeta’s knuckles are beat up, which I probably would’ve noticed if I hadn't been so occupied with his lips and other things when he had me pinned to the couch last night. 

 

Maybe the missing pie was a coincidence after all and the reason Peeta hasn’t arrested Madge and I yet is because he knows we didn’t do it. He did insist that I trust him and let him deal with Brigham that night. How exactly did he  _ handle _ Brigham? With a bit of fisticuffs? Some murder one perhaps?

 

I flash back to those moments on the porch when Peeta had Brigham at his mercy, so clearly holding back from -- what was it he said last night? Bashing his skull to a pulp. Maybe, he only went with Brigham to get rid of the witnesses, namely me. Makes perfect sense. 

 

Even with the whispers still flying around us, mostly about me no doubt, I’m starting to feel better about my odds again. What I’m not feeling so good about is the possibility that I made out with a murderer last night, no matter how good he looks this morning in that damn uniform of his. Even if Brigham did deserve it, at least Madge and I didn’t really intend on giving Brigham the poison pie and would’ve killed him by accident. If we did, which I am no longer certain of.

 

“I’ll be sure to stop by later, Ma’am. You ladies have a good day. Make sure you get a piece of pie before you go. I hear the strawberry is excellent. Not as good as Madge’s but still delicious,” he says all of this while staring straight into my eyes. My fingers clench and snap the straw I was twirling. “Don’t forget I need you to come by the station later, Katniss.”

 

My mother smiles like a schoolgirl and waves as he leaves. As soon as he’s out the door, she makes a strange noise her throat before shouting to the restaurant at large. “Everyone go back to your breakfast! Nothing to see here!”

 

She turns to the table and arranges her flatware before speaking in a loud voice that no one would miss. “Let’s have a prayer for Mayor Tate and poor Madge.”

 

The other patrons bow their heads and silence descends, their attention finally removed from me. I can’t help but gaze with new appreciation at my mother when she looks up at me and smiles softly. But it’s ruined when everyone has finished their prayers and the noise of eating and conversation rises again. Mama reaches across the table and takes my hand once more.

 

“Everything’s going to be fine, Flower. It’s not like people  _ really _ think you killed Mayor Tate. They’re just upset and in shock is all. I’m sure Sheriff Mellark will find the real killer in no time, everyone will forget this, and then you two can get started on making a few beautiful grandbabies for me.”

 

Glinda chooses this moment to drop my plate in front of me. The toast is burned and jumps with the force of its landing. My omelette is a mess. Then she slides a plate of perfectly prepared food gently into the place in front of my mother.

 

“Katniss is pregnant with Sheriff Mellark’s baby? Good lord, the town will never live through something like  _ that. _ Delly will be devastated,” she huffs before stalking away.

  
Great. I spear my omelette and grumble under my breath. Two days. I’ve been here all of two days and I’m already a man-stealing murderer who got knocked up by the sheriff.


	10. Chapter 10

“Just tell me you didn’t break any more laws,” Madge says as I stomp up the stairs to her house and smack her car keys into her hand.

 

“It was a struggle, but I managed,” I say and she smiles. Her bruises are starting to change color and the sight of her slowly unfurling personality is almost enough to distract me from what I need to tell her. “I had a lovely breakfast with my mother while the entire town quietly debated whether or not they’d be able to drag me by my hair to the town center and burn me at the stake. Oh and Peeta stopped by to suggest we try the strawberry pie at Sae’s. Pie, Madge!”

 

“Katniss Everdeen, I swear if you waste one more second jabber-jawing on the porch and not giving me a hug…”

 

Finally, a break in this catastrophe. Madge grins as I look over her shoulder, forget about pie, and squeal with relief before I throw myself at her aunt, Maysilee Donner. It’s basically on the same level as being hugged by my own mother. But beyond that, seeing Maysilee reminds me that there’s more than just Mama in our corner in this town.

 

Whenever Madge and I would land ourselves in trouble, the women in our lives would react predictably. My mother would roll her eyes and sigh, ground me, then remind me just how long it took her to bring me into this world. Madge’s mother, Marjorie Undersee would wring her hands and worry but ultimately do nothing productive. Maysilee would hide her grin behind her hand and leave the punishment to our moms, but later she’d laugh with us or sneak us sweets and cold sodas from the store she ran in town. She always used to say that Madge and I were the heart of this place and that without us, everyone would expire from boredom.

 

Now they’re expiring from murder and maybe pie.

 

“Hush, girl,” she soothes as I grip her blouse and bury my face in her shoulder. “You’ve stirred more than enough trouble for today, don’t you think?”

 

“I haven’t caused any trouble today,” I tell Maysilee.

 

“The day’s still young,” she says cheerfully and pulls back to tug down the scarf I borrowed from Madge. She glares at the marks on my neck and harrumphs.

 

“Madge’s are worse,” I mutter pathetically.

 

“Oh honey, we’ve already discussed that,” Maysilee assures me. “You listen to me, both of you. Any man from here on out lays a hand on you that you don’t want there, you tell me and I’ll send him Brigham’s way.”

 

“Peeta’s been laying his hands on Katniss quite a bit since she got back,” Madge teases.

 

“Uh-huh,” Maysilee grunts and examines my eyes and my rapidly heating cheeks carefully before she releases me and I manage to look away and scowl at Madge.

 

“Pie!” I remind her.

 

“Is that some code word for your next scheme?” Maysilee says with an upward quirk of her lips. “The new slang term for necking maybe?”

 

Oh and I thought I was already blushing as much as I could. Madge the Traitor laughs.

 

“Why does everyone keep insisting that I should sleep with Peeta?” I ask and Maysilee turns away from me to grab her purse from the hall table.

 

“Maybe because that boy’s had stars in his eyes for you since you all played in my backyard together and made mud pies. Which means he won’t be wasting his chance to rock your world if you give it to him. And someone needs to save him from Pamela Cartwright’s useless attempts to get him to marry Delly.”

 

“That’s just weird,” I grouse, but now I’m picturing Peeta half naked and covered in mud, and thinking about last night, and someone really needs to crank on the air conditioner in this house. But wrestling in the mud makes me think of him pinning Brigham and Peeta’s bloody knuckles, and that reminds me that I have a lot to talk about with Madge besides just pie.

 

“Just keep on open mind, dear,” Maysilee says with a soft pat on my cheek and a fond smile before she addresses both of us. “Alright girls, I’ve got to go before I miss my hair appointment. Call me when the mourners start showing up with the green bean casseroles and I’ll help you greet them all.”

 

She rolls her eyes and then leaves us smiling in the hallway. 

 

“Aunt Maysilee was so furious when she saw me,” Madge whispers. Her smile is fading and she wraps one arm around her middle to grasp her opposite arm.

 

“She was furious with Brigham, not you,” I say and Madge nods, biting her lip for a second.

 

“I think she was mad that I never told her what Brigham was doing,” Madge says softly and I sigh, rubbing my temples and walking towards her.

 

“Yeah, I mean, we would’ve tried to help if you’d told us what was going on. Aunt Maysilee, my mother, me, Peeta.” 

 

I try not to sound frustrated with her because I can’t imagine the kind of fear or feelings of helplessness that Brigham must have put into Madge to keep her silent. Like Maysilee, I’ve always been far too outspoken for this town’s tastes. And while some may have turned on Madge had she spoken up about Brigham’s abuse, there are enough of us who would’ve been outraged on her behalf and wanted to help. Madge still looks upset, though, so I search about for a distraction and a segue into what I learned today.

 

“She’s right about those mourners, though. There’s sure to be at least a dozen casseroles and their cooks in here later, all of them hungry for gossip and wanting to gawk at your misfortunes and cry on your shoulder in an attempt to prove that they’re the most hurt by Bastard Supreme’s death.”

 

“You’re only partially right about that,” Madge says, her smile creeping back onto her face and her eyes regaining their usual spark. “Aunt Maysilee didn’t just come to check on how I was doing, but also to unload some gossip herself. You know she sold the sweet shop and now works at Town Hall, right? Well, it turns out, there may have been quite a few people in this town who didn’t care much for my husband.”

 

“So not everyone’s as dumb as they act,” I grumble sarcastically as we enter the kitchen and Madge opens the fridge, tossing a smile at me before she starts to pull out ingredients to prepare desserts to go with all those damn casseroles and such that will soon be paraded into the house. 

 

“Don’t you understand what this means? It means that we, and by we, I mean you, are not the only suspects.”

 

“Oh and we need to talk about the good sheriff of this town and he might not be quite as innocent as his dimples suggest,” I tell her as I fire up the Mr. Coffee and start brewing something passable. It has been three days since my last Daily Fix. 

 

“I’ll bet he’s insanely far from innocent once you get him naked,” Madge says with a giggle when I growl in exasperation and smack the mugs down on the counter a little harder than is strictly necessary. “The point is, any number of people in this town had reason to get rid of Brigham, even if you’re the only one they can bring themselves to talk about right now. Well that and the fact that you’re apparently pregnant with Peeta’s love child.” 

 

I glare at her and mutter under my breath about yanking the telephones out of the walls in every house in Twelve Willows and holding a bonfire with them. She shuts the fridge, looking speculative for a few moments. “Huh, turns out my mother was right back when we were in high school. You really  _ can  _ get pregnant just from kissing a boy.”

 

I want to hurl an insult at her for that last comment, but I am now too focused on the possibilities that other suspects presents. At the very least, it affords us the opportunity to obscure the case enough so that Peeta can’t make any arrests. And by not make any arrests, I mean not arrest me. If they can’t pin the pie on anyone, it’ll just be marked as unsolved. Right?


	11. Chapter 11

“Read it back to me!” I declare as I lean heavily on the fridge door and shift aside a casserole to reach the bottle of pinot that is my target. As it turns out, Starla Summers is rather generous and should chair the grief and welcoming committees in this town, seeing as how her contribution to the Madge-is-Grieving-We-Must-Feed-Her fund was ten bottles of wine. Cheap wine, but I’m trying not to judge, seeing as how I am suspected of murder and immaculate conception.

 

“Hot buns of steel!” Madge shouts from the table as her forearms slide forward across the surface.

 

“Wrong list!” I protest and fall into my seat. I squint at the bottle trying to focus on removing the cork.

 

“I think that one’s a twist cap,” Madge smirks at me and starts giggling as I twist the cap off and toss it over my shoulder where it lands on the floor with a  _ ping. _

 

“I know what I’m doing, blondie. Don’t think I don’t,” I point my finger at her and then lift my nose in feigned superiority while she snorts and I refill our glasses.

 

After the bereavement committee departed, we decided to get down to the serious business of solving the murder. By then, I was spun up so tight from smiling past the glares thrown my way all day and the not-so-subtle questions everyone posed to Madge about whether or not she felt threatened with me in her house, plus an incident with Whiskers at the Gas N Sip, that I caved when Madge suggested we have a glass of wine with dinner. Since I was still upset after dinner, she urged me to drink another one, just to help me relax. Two glasses turned into three, and before I knew it, we were engaged in one of the time honored traditions of sisterhood...draining a few bottles of wine. 

 

“The lisht,” I declare as I lift my glass and we miss each other’s on a toast before taking a drink.

 

“Oh! Can we play a drinking game? I’ve never played one before and I’ve always wanted to.”

 

“Honey, you shoulda poisoned your husband a lot sooner,” I slur. “Okay, the rules! We pick a word and every time someone says that word, we have to drink.”

 

“Platypus!” Madge shouts and I stare at her.

 

“The idea is to pick a word someone would say often…” I try to explain but Madge has squashed her lips into a beak with her fingers and crosses her eyes as she sticks her tongue out at me. I snort and my chair leans to the left beneath me. “You look like a platypus.”

 

“Aha!” she shouts in triumph and pounds her fist on the table.

 

“Fucker,” I mutter but take a drink of my wine, smacking my lips in satisfaction. “Now the lisht.”

 

“Item one: Dreamy eyes”

 

“That’s not the list I want!” I yell and try to snatch the paper from her hands, but my coordination is all off and I miss. Then I scowl at her while she laughs comically. We started a list of possible suspects, but at some point we also began a list of pros and cons for me sleeping with Peeta. Madge is still pushing the idea of not only finding as many potential suspects as possible to confuse the investigation but also distraction by seduction. She’s out of her damn mind, but with about three glasses of wine in me, I ended up shouting out a very long list of reasons why I should and only a handful of why I shouldn’t. Still, the cons are weighted significantly higher, in my mind.

 

“Read me the shushupects,” I tell her in my most dignified tone.

 

“Herbert Abernashty...is there a shhhhh in his last name?”

 

“Who cares, Platypus? Motive!” I pronounce and Madge nods, taking a sip of her wine before continuing.

 

“Right! Herbert and Brigham fought over a request he made to plant petunias in front of his bar. He denied the request for reashons unknown. They are reported to have exchanged heated words the day before Brigham departed town.”

 

“Onward!” I proclaim.

 

“Why is there a stick figure in a noose? Oh! Is that Brigham? I like it! Can you add the X’s for eyes like you did earlier?”

 

I add the eyes with a flourish and motion for her to keep going.

 

“The words are all fuzzy,” she complains and squints at the sheet. “Maybe I should stop drinking.”

 

“We just started our game,” I remind her. “Plus, if I’m drinking, then I’m not crying over the fact that everybody in this town thinks I’m a murderer.”

 

“Platypus! Pie! Poison!” Madge shouts and tosses her drink back.

 

“Yesh, I know I baked a poison pie and that I just might be a murderer...but you baked it too! And yet, they’re all blaming me and not giving you a second thought. It was your kitchen that produced the poison pie!”

 

“I know,” Madge wails and looks guilty. Then I feel bad for making her feel bad because after Maysilee left and the entire town poured in to offer their condolences and Madge had to hide the bruises behind a thick layer of makeup, she seriously considered washing her face clean and telling them all what Brigham had been doing to her. I refused to let her on the grounds that then they might suspect her too, and they already hate me so it’s better if I take the heat for this. Plus, she hid Brigham’s abuse for years for a reason, and I won’t let anyone turn on her now that he’s dead and blame her for him being a fucktard.

 

“Platypus!” I shout and take another drink to distract her. She snorts, drinks, and leans forward with her laughter. “Next shuspect!”

 

“Elvira Thompshon,” she reads. “Brigham filed an official complaint about Blue and his barking.”

 

“And Maysilee actually heard that argument so it’s not second hand or forty-hand gossip and Elvira told him he’d regret the day he was born. Platypus!” I shout again and grudgingly admit the diabolical genius behind Madge’s drinking game rules.

 

“Whiskers Ripper,” Madge pauses to snort at the name. “Because Brigham actually did punt him when he wouldn’t stop using our yard as his litter box. Platypus!”

 

Madge pauses mid toast when she sees me not joining her.

 

“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem right to put Whiskers on the lisht. He’s just a cat. No opposable thumbs!” I wriggle my thumb at her to make my point and she rolls her eyes.

 

“He pissed on your leg,” she reminds me.

 

“Death to defecating fleabags!” I shout enthusiastically and take a drink to Whiskers Ripper, conniving murderer.

 

My phone  _ pings  _ with a text message and I groan when I see who it’s from.

 

“Who is it? Whatsit shay?” Madge asks all curious as I yank my phone out of her grasping hands. I turn it to show her the text that reads simply  _ Damnit Katniss... _ and her eyes go round. “Oh no. You forgot to go to the shtation. Do you think he’s mad?”

 

“I dunno, Margaret. Does Peeta Mellark use the word  _ damnit _ when he’s delighted? Like ‘ _ Damnit Madge, _ you look lovely tonight!’ And I didn’t forget. I’ve been avoiding him. Because  _ PIE _ ! And I may or may not have shtolen some coffee from the Gas N Sip when I met my mother there thish afternoon to get my car back. I maintain the fine print was too fine!” 

 

Since Peeta made it clear that I was not allowed to leave town, my mother and Maysilee drove the hour to County Memorial to get my car back. While I waited for them, I made another attempt at consuming the coffee Mary Jo Bristel sells at the Gas N Sip her family has owned since wooly mammoths were in vogue. It has not improved in quality in the past ten years and I spat it out. Right onto Whiskers as he sniffed at her display of plastic wrapped, pre-made, cold cut sandwiches. And I may have gotten some on the sandwiches, too. I swear it’s not my fault. She of course accused me of stealing the coffee since apparently the  _ Free Coffee  _ sign also had fine print  _ With Purchase of Gas _ . In microscopic comic sans. I paid for the sandwiches I destroyed but not the coffee. On principle. She was too stunned by my comment that my mouth automatically rejects anything that tastes like it was used to wash socks to stop gaping at me and argue over the $1.50 I owed her until I was driving away. Eustice, off course, lit up the phone lines to complain about me spitting coffee on Whiskers. And she didn’t appreciate my comment that he was a health hazard anyways being that close to the sandwiches. Peeta’s undoubtedly heard all about it by now.

 

“And he’s a suspect on our lisht,” Madge reminds me, pointing to number 8 on our list.  _ Sheriff Peeta Hot Buns Mellark. Bloody knuckles and threats to put bullet in Brigham’s head. Potentially packing ginormous heat. And stupid dimples. _ Right next to a stick figure of Brigham with a dark spot on his forehead and X’s for eyes.

 

“We forgot the skull smashing! And how dare he try to intimidate me when it is entirely posshible that he beat up and killed Brigham then dumped the body on your yard! I’d like to tie him down right here and give him a good lick-ture on manners! Do you think he only kissed me so I wouldn’t figure out he’s guilty? ” I wail the question and toss my phone on the table to ignore him.

 

Ten years ago, his actions would’ve been predictable. I knew Peeta Mellark, and he’d never act the way he did last night. Or the night before. And while this newfound unpredictability could be interesting under other circumstances, right now it just makes him dangerous.

 

“I thought we decided he kissed you because you’ve got a great ass and he’s in love with you?”

 

“No! He kissed me so I wouldn’t see his hands! Can we focus on the fact that I made out with a murderer? Can you kill someone by punching them repeatedly? Is that a thing?”

 

“Does it creep you out?” she whispers with wide, fascinated eyes. “I mean, he may have killed Brigham with his bare hands, which good for him and all that, no remorse. But then he had those bare hands in your panties.”

 

“Well technically, he may have also made out with a murderer since I’m a suspect too. I think our joint murder suspectness cancels out,” I say sagely. Besides, just thinking about Peeta’s hands in my panties has me shivering. And not from dread either. Asshole. “Platypus!”

 

We both drink and I glare at my phone as the screen goes dark. “I’m going to ignore him until I figure out what I’m going to say to him. Can’t think around dimples, you know. Besides, what’s he gonna do? Drive over here and drag me to the shtation for questioning?”

 

There’s a knock on the door and we both scream.

 

“Oh my god, he heard you! Did you forget to hang up?” she whispers and I try to calm her as we hurry to the door. I reach blindly for the arrow shaped award on the hall table since there could be a killer on the loose if we didn’t do it with our poison platypus strawberry pie, and we are both far too drunk to defend ourselves. I scowl when I come up empty handed. Oh right, I left it in the kitchen the other night. Well, there are other ways to deal with this.

 

“Who is it?” I shout in my most intimidating voice.

 

“It’s Deputy Buckley, ma’am.”

 

“Oh good,” I mutter and unlock the door. “Him I can deal with.”

 

“Hello deputy,” Madge greets as I open the door. We smile as serenely as possible and try not to let the spinning of the earth throw us off our balance.

 

“Evening, ladies. I’m sorry to drop by so late. I hope I’m not disturbing you,” he says.

 

“Oh no, no disruption,” Madge insists benignly. “We were just having a rousing discussion about platypussies.”

 

I snort as Deputy Buckley’s cheeks flush and Madge seems oblivious to what she just said.

 

“Is that how you say it plural?” she asks.

 

“Um, I really don’t know,” Deputy Buckley says, twisting his hat in his hands before setting it back on his head.

 

“I’m so glad you stopped by, Thom,” Madges says and takes another sip of wine. “You work too hard. You should come in and sit down. Talk to us a minute. Delly dropped off some of her famous chicken cacciatore earlier today.”

 

“Ix-nay on the alking-tay,” I try to whisper to her, elbowing her to remind her that Thom is not an ally here. He knows too much already. Plus there’s no telling what else Madge will spill in her inebriated state.

 

“What did you say? Is that English?” she asks and Thom glances between the two of us. “But we owe to him pleasure in his company. I mean to what do we owe him to pleasure him in company. Oh my god, I think I drank too much.”

 

“Maybe you should go sit down, Platypus,” I say and try to laugh off her drunkenness with Thom. “Thanks for stopping by to check on us, deputy!”

 

“Actually, Miss Everdeen, Sheriff Mellark sent me here to bring you down to the station,” Thom says and I choke on my nonchalant sip of wine as I glare at him.

 

“What?” I snarl. “He sent you over here to collect me like I’m some sort of criminal?”

 

“Platypus!” Madge shouts and we both automatically take a gulp of wine. 

 

“I’m really sorry to do this to you,” he says as he reaches for his utility belt and takes a step towards me. I laugh in his face because I am five foot three and around 105 when I’m in boots and a heavy coat. I do not look like the type capable of resisting arrest. “He said you might give me trouble and that I should use whatever means necessary to get you to cooperate.”

 

The wine takes over and speaks to my deep seated frustration with Sheriff Hot Buns. I toss the glass of wine over my shoulder, ignoring the sound as it shatters on Madge’s floor, and lift a hand to point in his face and lecture him, because Peeta Mellark has messed with the wrong girl.

  
So that’s basically the story of the time I got tased.


	12. Chapter 12

“You’re not dying. I had to be tased in order to carry one.”

 

“Were you drunk?” I snarl and Peeta chuckles as he extends his hand to help me up off the floor where I’ve been twitching and drooling and cursing and hopefully not pissing myself. The after effects of the tase lasted long enough that Deputy Buckley freaked and called Peeta in to help, but only after I told Madge to go get me a butter knife from the kitchen so I could saw off Thom’s penis. Luckily, I was still stuttering enough that it sounded more like I was calling him a dick than threatening his dick. Which is probably a good thing, considering that the last man whose dick I threatened ended up dead. And oh crap, I forgot that I threatened Peeta’s the same night I threatened Brigham’s. Well, if either sheriff or deputy wind up dead in the next few days, I will officially be dubbed the Dick Killer.

 

Although I am tempted to just live up to the name right now as Peeta grins down at me. I’d bite my tongue to keep from threatening his dick again, but I’m afraid I might have another spasm and bite my tongue right off. So I have to settle for some good old fashioned self-control.

 

“I’ll take you to the hospital if you really think you need it, but how exactly do you want me to explain this one?” he asks.

 

I smack his hand away and roll onto my knees to stand on my own, but as soon as I’m up, my legs wobble and give out. Peeta swoops in and wraps his arms around me, pulling me up against his sturdy frame before I can hit the floor again.

 

He still smells like toasted cinnamon and spices and he’s so warm that I rest my cheek on his chest and take a deep breath, until I feel the rumble of his laughter. I grumble an excuse about being disoriented from the tase and yank myself away from him, taking a few careful steps to get myself out of smelling distance.

 

“I swear I’m not laughing about the tasing, Katniss. I just remembered the way I used to lean forward in science class hoping to catch a whiff or your hair. You used to use this honeysuckle scented shampoo and I thought it was the best smell in the world,” he admits with a small smile and I almost forget that I’m livid with him. Almost.

 

“Oh no! I don’t think so, Peeta Mellark! You don’t get to come here and say all kinds of sweet things and give me that stupid sweet smile that makes my knees all mushy like we’re still sixteen and my brain forget that I’m mad at you. Not after your deputy tased me on  _ your  _ order! I am a fortress, so ha!”

 

“I make your knees all mushy?” he asks as he takes a step closer to me until our toes are touching. “And here I thought you weren’t even aware of my existence when we were sixteen.”

 

“It’s not going to work,” I insist, poking his chest to make my point.

 

“What’s not going to work?” he whispers, bending his head to trace his lips over the shell of my ear. I pull my hand back and clench my fists at my sides so I don’t do something stupid like tear his shirt off his body and run my palms all over his chest and shoulders.

 

“I am immune to your charms. There will be no seduction going on here,” I insist even as I tilt my head to give him better access to my neck.

 

“Ten years of regrets for never working up the courage to say the things I always wanted to say to you. An entire lifetime of fantasies...and you somehow taste better than I ever imagined,” he murmurs as his lips skim down my neck and plant a soft kiss at the base. I shiver and then shake myself free of his words, jumping back away from him.

 

“Nope! I call bullshit. I know what you’re doing! There is no way you’ve carried a torch for me all these years. Maybe you once had a crush on me, but I’ll be damned if I let you use that and your dimples to distract me! You did it last night and I am  _ not _ falling for it again. I know your secret!”

 

“Secret? Just how drunk are you?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow at me and crossing his arms over his chest. 

 

“I am very drunk!” I shout, and then because I’ve just now realized that all this flirting and seduction on his part means that he’s not only been lying to me but also using me to cover up his own guilt, I shout something even dumber. “And your deputy tased me!”

 

Because even though I barely know who Peeta is now, I’m not lying about his sweet smile or his kindness or how it did make me all mushy inside when we were kids and apparently still has the same effect, and  _ that _ Peeta would never use someone to cover up his own misdeeds. And the fact that that is exactly what _ this _ Peeta is doing with his scorching kisses and stupid dimples hurts worse than fifty thousand volts of electricity straight to the heart. And okay, so maybe Madge and I have kind of been planning on doing the same thing to him but that wasn’t meant to pin the murder on him so much as it was to distract him from arresting me for it. Besides, it’s not like I was planning on actually doing it.

 

“I’m sorry Thom tased you, Katniss. I just knew you were going to put up a fight over this and I guess he took me literally when I told him to do whatever it took to bring you in. He says you looked like you were about to punch him in the face.”

 

“Oh you haven’t even seen me put up a fight yet!” I snap, the words  _ bring you in _ a stab to the gut. So he admits it! I ignore the reminder my brain foists upon me that the first thing Peeta did when he got here was to make sure I was okay and when I told him I was dying, he then ordered Thom out of the house and off duty until he had a chance to “look into the incident.”

 

“Platypus!” Madge shouts from down the hall and then breaks into a fit of giggles. 

 

As soon as Peeta showed up, I grabbed her by the collar while she failed at helping Thom clean up the shards of broken glass and spilled wine, stuttering one word at her.  _ Pie. _ That was all she needed to scramble back to the laundry room and hide because we both know she’s surpassed the stage of inebriation when you still have some control over what you say or the ability to lie. Based on the giggling and shouting, she’s not sobering up fast enough in there.

 

“Pay no attention to the drunk girl behind the curtain,” I say as Peeta leans to the side to stare around me down the hallway, his face bewildered. “She’s had a rough week. Lost her husband, you know. Let’s focus instead on something important. Like you’re a Lying McLiarson and your lips and  _ things _ have been Blacklisted.”

 

I gesticulate wildly towards his entire body so he knows I mean it and then cross my arms to glare at him. 

 

Peeta sighs and runs his hand through his hair, messing it all up again in a stupidly adorable way and I want so badly to run my fingers through in trail to fix the mess for him. Then I glimpse the cuts and bruises and the desire evaporates in a flash. He catches me staring at his knuckles and rubs them nervously on his shirt, his brows coming together in a scowl.

 

“It wasn’t a flat tire. But I’m guessing you’ve already figured that out. Things may have gotten a little heated with Brigham after I left here that night,” he says and lets out a puff of air.

 

I actually didn’t know that. Squirming under his now steady gaze, I can admit that I let the gossip get the best of me mainly because I’m out of my league here and don’t understand why I’ve been throwing myself at someone I hardly know anymore. But I'm not about to stop him now that he’s talking openly about it, especially not if it gets Madge and I off the hook. I mean, I don’t really want Peeta to go to jail, but let’s face it. His odds of surviving prison are much better than mine.

 

“I know you were angry with me when I went with Brigham to the bar, but I only did that to get him away from both you and Madge.”

 

And there he goes again with the damn hair mussing thing that’s just way too cute and his eyes skitter away from me for a second like they used to do in high school before coming back to settle on mine. He looks nervous and worried.

 

“We haven’t seen each other in a decade and everything you might know about me is leftover from when we were kids, but please believe me when I say that I would never put anyone in this town in danger because some egomaniac thinks he can blackmail me.” His voice deepens and thickens with anger the longer he speaks. “I wasn’t lying when I told you what it did to me to be powerless against what I suspected he was doing to Madge. Then to  _ see  _ him actually hit you? You  _ know _ why that’d nearly kill me. At least tell me you remember that much.”

 

The conviction in his eyes and his voice, and especially the reminder of what his mother used to do to him, something he’s never once spoken of out loud as far as I know, all point to the truth that he speaks, and I slowly nod in understanding. I’ve only spent a few days with Madge and the knowledge of the abuse she suffered, and I've wanted to scream and cry and rage and smash things and bang my head against the wall with the guilt and the what-ifs that have battered me close to insanity. Peeta’s suspected it for years, actually knows and understands what Madge has been living through, because he lived it too. Even though his mother’s blows never sent him to the hospital, the bruises and the words she’d sling at him would’ve hurt just as much. Caused just as much invisible damage. I cannot imagine how horrible it’s made him feel, someone who took an oath to protect everyone in this town, to watch, powerless, as one of his friends endured that kind of abuse.

 

Suddenly, the idea that I made-out with a maybe-murderer last night doesn’t seem so bad. Who could blame him for snapping? I’ve only tasted a fraction of the anger and frustration Peeta’s been dealing with and it only took me an hour or so to start considering murdering Brigham as a viable option. And like both Madge and Jo have pointed out, Brigham had it coming.

 

In the silence as I let this all sink in, Peeta has started nervously rubbing the battered skin on his left knuckles with his right hand and he can’t quite meet my eyes anymore. I think about the boy I once knew, standing bruised in the rain, a memory I’ve tried to forget but that haunts me vividly now. All that matters at this point, is that we understand each other.

 

“Stop. Please,” I whisper and step towards him, placing my hand over his to halt his nervous motions. “I don’t care what happened between you and Brigham after you left here. I just want Madge to be safe and left out of this mess. I promise I won’t say anything to anyone about what happened between you and Brigham that night.”

 

He tilts his head to look at me through his downcast lashes and smiles again. 

 

“And you somehow thought it was impossible for me to still have feelings for you?” Peeta lifts his hands and caresses my cheeks before closing the distance between us enough so that I can catch his scent again and feel the warmth emanating from his body. “This is why, Katniss. Because you drop everything and put your life on hold for a friend you haven’t seen or spoken to in ten years. All it took was one phone call and you didn’t even hesitate, did you? You’d still somehow do anything to protect her, including let this town tear you to shreds again, and holding your head high while they do it. Because while everyone else looked the other way when some awkward jock in school got the shit kicked out of him by his own mother, or excused it as her disciplining her child because it made them feel uncomfortable to deal with it, you kept looking right at him. Even when that kid was just a poor schmuck with a hopeless crush on you, you still found a way to make him feel strong enough to survive it. So yeah, I somehow haven’t been able to shake you or get you off my mind, even after a decade.”

 

I swallow the lump in my throat and try to ignore the fluttering in my stomach. “You had to have dated  _ someone _ in ten years. You don’t kiss like a monk.”

 

Peeta laughs and rubs his thumb over my cheek again, staring deep into my eyes. “There were a few. But none of them left an impression the way you did. I know the circumstances aren’t the best, and it’s a little crazy and fast, but now that I’ve finally got your attention, I’m not missing what might be my last chance to make sure you never forget me again.”

 

“I didn’t forget you, Peeta,” I whisper, placing my hands on his wrists as he lowers his head towards mine. “And I’m pretty sure I’d recognize you anywhere after this. I’ll cover for you if you need it, just like you did for me with the chemistry lab. Besides, half the town already thinks you got me pregnant and your car was out front the whole night. We’ll just tell them I seduced you and there’s your alibi.”

 

He freezes with his lips hovering over mine. “Why would I need an alibi?”

 

I blink in confusion as he pulls his head back, puzzled eyes scanning my entire face. “Wait. You don’t think I killed Brigham, do you?”

 

“Well you pretty much admitted it just now. With the cuts and bruises and things getting heated and the black eye Brigham had when you guys found the body. Plus you went all soft and happy when I said I wouldn’t tell anyone. Am I missing something here?”

 

“How about the fact that I didn’t kill anyone?” he says as he steps back away from me, taking his heat and his cinnamon scent with him. “When I said things got heated, I meant that when we got to Abernathy’s he started talking in the parking lot. I lost my temper and punched him! He scrambled back into his car and drove off. So I clocked myself back in, just in case he tried to get to you or Madge again, and spent the night sitting in my car outside to keep an eye on the house. And when you said you wouldn’t tell anyone, I thought you were talking about the gossips and the bruises on my knuckles and what I told you last night about wanting to smash his skull in. But I’ve already signed a statement about what happened. Is this why you’ve been avoiding me all day? Here I thought you were avoiding me because you two know something about the murder, or you were pissed at me about last night and how I basically mauled you like a horny teenager when all you wanted from me was a fucking hug. You really thought I killed him?”

 

“Well all of this is news to me! What else was I supposed to think?” I shout, ignoring his questions about last night because I don’t want to examine that right now. Especially since we might be back to Peeta thinking I murdered Brigham. “And need I remind you that you just got done telling me that we don’t know much about each other after a decade. How was I supposed to know you haven’t grown up to be a murderer?”

 

“Whiskers did it in the kitchen with a shovel! Platypus!” Madge shouts and then giggles again. 

 

“So, if you thought I killed him, then what was that between us last night?” he asks. “You know what, never mind. I don’t think I want to know what last night was.”

 

“Everyone gets a platypussy when we solve the case!” Madge sings in a shout.

 

Peeta groans in annoyance and pinches the bridge of his nose, his eyes shut tight. “Please tell me that you two aren’t trying to conduct your own investigation.”

 

“Fine, I won’t tell you that,” I snap and cross my arms over my chest. Peeta opens his mouth to argue with me, but his phone starts ringing and he glares at it for a moment after yanking it from his pocket. He stomps towards the door and answers the call, growling a warning at me before he speaks to the person waiting on the other end.

 

“I’ll be back. At least promise me you’ll leave Whiskers alone while I’m gone.” He hauls the door open and leaves the house before I can answer. I don’t care that it’s rude and he’s already talking to whoever called him. I run to the open door and yell at his back as he crosses the lawn.

 

“I make no promises! That little asshole is at the top of our suspect list!”


	13. Chapter 13

_ Thwack! Thwack! Thwack! _

 

Three arrows land in quick succession, the tips buried in blue and yellow rings as I gnash my teeth and tromp through the high grass towards my target. I’m rusty and inaccurate and I don’t like it. Insects buzz in the grass as I yank the arrows from the target and slide them back into the my quiver before returning it to my back.

 

I’ve already spent hours out here, in the rolling hills that cradle my mother’s house, removed from town and accessible only by a dirt road. It turns to mud in spring, chalk and powder in summer, ice in winter. A winding, treacherous thing that few people other than my mom brave.

 

Once I reach my mark, I twirl to face the target and fire in rapid succession again. Three shots. Evaluate. Three shots. Correct. Three shots. I’m still shooting wide and I clench my fist on my bow, my shoulders tense with frustration.

 

It’s been three days since Thom tased me and nothing has changed or shifted. Armed with our list of suspects, I’ve made attempts to either solve the crime or confuse everyone enough to get them to stop pointing at me, but have had no luck. Since no one will talk to me.

 

I should rephrase. They talk plenty, just not about what I need them to tell me. Instead it’s been three day’s worth of getting dragged down memory lane and trying not to add to my body count as they regale me with every last way I’ve disrupted the peace in their apparently perfect fucking lives. The result is, I am still the obvious suspect in all of their eyes.

 

The worst of it is that since Pamela Cartwright works for the sheriff’s department and plays bunko with my mother every Thursday night, Mama has kept me abreast of the investigation as much as possible. Which apparently mostly consists of people regurgitating those same memories for the record and talking about how it makes sense that I would graduate from streaking and petty theft to murder.

 

Eventually, I couldn’t stand it for another second. I needed to get away from them all, even Madge. Free from Brigham’s control, she’s been slowly coming back to life, although she still has moments when she startles with fear flashing in her eyes or locks herself in her room until I pry her out with offers of food and coffee. I know it will take her time and that I should be patient, but I honestly have no idea how to truly help her heal.

 

So after I convinced her she could use a day with Aunt Maysilee, I decided to drive out to my mother’s this morning. She fixed me a hearty breakfast, hugged me, and then handed me my old bow. Without a word, I understood what she was suggesting. Shooting always helped me relieve tension when I was younger. Escape the things that bothered me.

 

But hours later, I’m more frustrated than ever. It started as a low simmering rage that grew with every shot that was just left of center. I used to hit the bullseye and nothing else. I could hit moving targets, take down a deer even. I guess that’s what I get for neglecting this skill for a few years.

 

I retrieve my arrows, and as I hike back to my mark, the rustle of the grass and the snapping of a twig draws my attention. The aggravated groan leaves my lips before I can process that it’s not exactly a polite greeting.

 

Peeta stops, twenty feet away from me, his hands in his pockets as he watches me face the target and draw an arrow. He’s dressed in jeans and a grey t-shirt this time, his uniform thankfully absent.

 

“Sure you feel safe this close to a suspected killer holding a weapon, Sheriff?” I ask. 

 

After Peeta denied killing Brigham, he laid off on insisting that I come to the station for questioning. I can only assume my neighbors have been keeping him swamped with what they feel is pertinent evidence that points to my guilt. I have seen him around town while I tried to talk with various people, and although I always managed to avoid speaking to him directly, my phone carries a one-sided string of text messages consisting of nothing but one or two word chastisements that told me just how angry he really must be.

  
  


_ DON’T.  _

 

_ STOP.  _

 

_ Katniss, PLEASE. _

 

Until the one I got late last night that simply said.  _ Will you please just take care of Madge and let me do my job? _

 

That’s the crux of the problem. Compared to Peeta, myself, and Madge, the motives we’ve determined for everyone else are flimsy at best. Petty squabbles that would happen every day in any town in the world with an asshole for a mayor. It’s not that I think he won’t be able to figure out who murdered Brigham, it’s that he’ll figure out that I’m the most likely murderer in town. And then what? I lose everything.

 

“I’ll take my chances. Since everyone in this town knows you’re the best shot with a bow for at least a hundred miles,” he says. I release my arrow and grumble as it lands short this time, the fletching pointing slightly upwards and the tip buried in yellow. I glare at Peeta and he ducks his head and shuffles his feet. “And today is one of my days off, so it’s Peeta. Please.”

 

He lifts his gaze just enough to look at me through his lashes and I nod before pulling another arrow free of my quiver.

 

“How did you find me, Peeta?”  _ Thwack. _ Closer but still not quite right.

 

“Madge. Then your mother showed me where you’d be out here.”

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t break out the posse to hunt me down. I could survive in these hills for weeks, you know. Give you your first manhunt for a fugitive.”

 

“I know,” he says softly.  _ Thwack _ . On the edge of red.

 

I shift nervously on my feet. I’m not sure where we stand after all that kissing and flirting and me accusing him of being a murderer. His coming out here dressed as he is, unarmed and unaccompanied, confuses me. My hands shake as I pull out another arrow and nock it, stare at the fletching, and order my stinging eyes not to cry. 

 

“What do you want?”

 

“To talk, I guess,” he says.  _ Thwack. Twack. _ They both land to the right, but they’re close together in a neat grouping at least.

 

“So where’s your taser and your tape recorder? Or is Pamela Cartwright at the house, ready to transcribe my statement?”

 

“No statements,” he murmurs. “No transcribers. That’s not why I came out here. It’s just…”

 

He trails off as I focus on my target and take aim. Release.  _ Thwack! _

 

“Nice shot,” he says warmly as I watch the arrow shaft shudder for a second, the tip sunk deep in the center of the red bullseye. I ignore him and shoot again until the rest of my arrows are down range, all in the red.

 

He walks with me and holds out his hands to take the quiver from me when I remove it from my shoulder. We remain silent as I pull the arrows free and slide them in the quiver. Then Peeta smiles shyly at me as he hands the whole thing back to me and I sling it onto my back.

 

“Thanks,” I say and we trudge back through the grass towards my mark. I rub one hand up and down my opposite arm, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye here and there. “It’s just what?” I finally ask as we halt at the line I drew in the dirt. He doesn’t retreat from me and holds my gaze as we face off.

 

“Nothing important. How’s Madge holding up?” he asks.

 

“Fine. Better. I haven’t gotten either one of us drunk or tased in the past three days, so an improvement,” I say and Peeta stifles what might’ve otherwise been a laugh and comes out a huff of air through his nose and half a smile.

 

“Katniss, look, I meant what I said the last time we spoke. But I know it probably freaked you out and I just...” he sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. “So much just went wrong. I mean, I knew you weren’t aware of my existence when we were kids, but I guess I was hoping maybe I’d been wrong about that. Then when you didn’t recognize me at the hospital, I responded poorly. First by trying to tease you and and then by kissing you. I guess I thought that since you were always so vivacious, the only way to get you to notice me was to come on a little strong. And the whole time, you thought I killed Brigham. So all that kissing was because you were afraid of me and I don’t want that, so--”

 

“It’s fine, Peeta. You don’t have to explain yourself, alright?” I cut him off before I can think too much about the kisses or the hug or the way he’s been drifting through my dreams at night alongside poisoned strawberries and generally confusing me.

 

“Right. Okay, well I just wanted to see if we could maybe try this again.”

 

“Try what again?” I ask.

 

“Maybe start with trying to be friends. I would’ve liked to learn more about who you are now, Katniss. I was so focused on not blowing my chances with you that I screwed it up even worse than I did when we were kids,” he says earnestly. “You’ve been gone for ten years, and I know next to nothing about your life anymore.”

 

The sweat that’s gathered on my skin begins to cool in the gentle spring breeze and I lean towards him a little. The cinnamon scent reaches me, stronger in the warmth of the sun, a soft tang beneath it, probably from hiking his way out here. It wouldn’t hurt to have another friend in town. Besides, this sweetly fumbling Peeta with his hands in his pockets, even though he’s still looking straight at me, is much closer to the boy I remember than the openly flirtatious and cocky sheriff. And I’ve been curious about him, too. I can at least admit that much.

 

“What, the second hand news from my mother isn’t good enough for you?” I ask as my lips curl up in a teasing smile. 

 

“Not even close,” he says as his own smile returns, fully formed and bright as the sun. “And if it helps, Thom’s lost his taser and his gun until he retrains on de-escalation techniques. Actually, all of us are going without weapons until we retrain. They were something Cray instituted before he retired and I’ve been thinking maybe we should get back to a more community based approach. Right now, we’re all a little on edge, so walking around town armed probably isn’t the best idea.  _ And  _ after a few days of hearing the stories about you, Thom had a skewed image of what you’re really like.”

 

I snort as I take my stance again, but I still say, “Okay.”

 

“Okay?” he asks.

 

“What do you want to know?” 

 

“Well, I know you’re still as loyal, stubborn, and outspoken as ever,” he says and I pull free another arrow. He remains close by this time, in my line of sight.

 

“That’s pretty much all you need to know,” I say and send the arrow downrange. It’s not exactly the most glowing description, but Peeta looks at me with such warmth and interest that I can’t feel insulted by what he said.

 

“Do you get the chance to shoot in Philadelphia?” he asks, nodding towards the target. I shake my head and prepare my next shot. “Why not?”

 

“Just didn't seem important anymore,” I say as I tuck a loose piece of hair back behind my ear.

 

“That's a shame. I imagine you'd either intimidate or enchant everyone in Philly if they all knew just how good you are,” he says after I let fly another arrow. While I’d usually take his words as an insult, there’s a strange note of almost pride in his tone that makes me think he’s okay with my skills. Maybe even more than okay with it. I scrunch my nose at the target and my arrow on the top edge of red.

 

“Was,” I grumble at my inconsistency and Peeta smiles.

 

“You're just out of practice.” I shoot and he asks more about my life in Philly. He’s attentive and politely asks details about Daily Fix and the franchise process, laughing when I tell him all about Jo and her interview to be my manager. “Sounds like you're perfect for each other.”

 

“I don't know what I'd do without her,” I admit and bite my lip. We’ve spent the whole time talking about me, but before I can ask him about his life, the loud ringing of a bell echoes through the fields and I groan. “That would be my mother, announcing lunch.”

 

We retrieve my arrows and target, and make our way back to the house, once more quiet as Peeta seems to slip into another world, his eyes intently trained on the ground in front of him. I nudge his side with my elbow as we get closer. “She's going to invite you to stay.”

 

“I can come up with an excuse to duck out, unless  _ you  _ want me to stay?” he asks softly.

 

“Yeah, I guess so,” I say and he smiles.

 

“She might find it odd if I refuse, seeing as how I did knock you up,” he teases and I laugh. 

 

“Please don't mention babies or pregnancy. She’s already hounding me for depriving her of grandchildren this long. Which I apparently owe her to compensate for the twenty-nine hours of labor it took to bring me into the world.”

 

Peeta chuckles and hangs back to let me climb the stairs a little ahead of him, his hand gentle on the small of my back, but he tears it away as soon as we walk inside my mother's house and I can't stop the wish that he’d kept it there from nagging at me.

 

As expected, my mother invites Peeta to stay for lunch and he accepts, helping her get the meal on the table while she keeps winking at me and I try not to burn alive with the way I'm blushing. It's really weird having my mother trying to set me up with someone like this.

 

“So, Peeta,” my mother starts once we’re seated and I brace myself for an obnoxiously prying questions. “How's the bakery coming along?”

 

“Slow, but it's looking better. I’ve at least got the kitchen redone, so I've started baking again. Not much, just enough to get back in the practice of things, test out recipes so I’ve got a menu planned when the front end is finished.”

 

“What happened to the bakery?” I ask as my mother hides her smile behind her lemonade and Peeta spreads butter over the slice of bread on his plate. Mellark’s Bakery has been a staple in Twelve Willows since before my mother was born. Owned and staffed by a long line of Peeta’s family.

 

“Mom had a stroke a few years ago and then Dad’s arthritis got worse. With both of my brothers and I gone, the bakery suffered. There just wasn't enough money to keep it staffed and viable.”

 

“Where were you?” I ask, a little rudely I assume, because my mother kicks me under the table. I'm surprised, though. I'd been operating on the belief that he never left town. Peeta doesn't seem phased by it, though.

 

“Penn State, at first,” he explains. “Then a year or so in St. Louis working as a paralegal before I went to the Academy.”

 

Before I can ask him why he chose law enforcement instead of continuing on to become a lawyer like his brothers both did, or why he even bothered coming back here, my mother inserts herself and asks an odd question. “We missed you at pottery night earlier this week. Do we need to adjust the time?”

 

“I don't think so. With things the way they are, I'll probably be busy for a few weeks and I don't want anyone rearranging their life for me,” he says and I look between them, curious about what pottery night is. Peeta used to draw all the time in school. The margins of his textbooks and dozens of pages in his notebooks dedicated to intense drawings. I wonder briefly if he’s taken up a new art form, but don't get a chance as my mother changes the subject again, seems to sense that the thing keeping him busy is the murder investigation, and that's not really a safe topic right now. I'm actually surprised we've made it this long without having to skirt around it.

 

Once we’re done with lunch, Peeta helps me wash the dishes, and I try not to think about how natural it feels, accepting clean dishes from him and drying them before putting them away. When we're done, I search my brain for an excuse to keep him out here longer. I'm not ready to go back to that big empty house in town just yet, and it’s been nice talking to him.

 

“So,” he says and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

 

“So,” I repeat. Worthless. I am worthless. Because now would be a great time to tell him that the last few hours are the most relaxed I've been in days, weeks, maybe even months. And that's just odd, seeing as how I might be a suspected murderer in his eyes.

 

“Damnit!” My mother shouts from somewhere outside and we both turn to look in the direction of her shout. “Of all the…”

 

As one, we leave the house and stop on the porch where my mother has her thumb in her mouth, an extension ladder leaning against the house.

 

“Mama, what are you doing?” I ask.

 

“Trying to fix the roof. What does it look like I'm doing?”

 

“Smashing your thumb,” I say and she glares at me, opening her mouth to no doubt tell me not to sass her.

 

“I can take a look, Lilly,” Peeta offers and she smiles beatifically at him as she hands him a small stack of roofing tiles and steps away from the ladder.

 

“Would you? Oh that’d be so helpful, Peeta. A bunch of tiles just came flying off during that thunderstorm we had two weeks ago,” she gushes as he clambers up the ladder while we watch, and okay that's  _ really  _ weird. But then my mother dumps a bag of tools in my hands, grabs my arm, and practically shoves me up the ladder, gesticulating wildly at me. I go, only because I don't want her to make a scene and draw Peeta’s attention to us by lecturing me.

 

“Hey,” he says with a smile once I reach the top of the ladder. He takes the tools from me so I can get off the ladder without making a fool of myself. Once my feet are planted on the roof, I tuck back that same strand of hair that came loose from my braid while I was shooting.

 

“Hey,” I mutter. “I'm sorry my mother pressed you into service for her.”

 

“Don't be,” Peeta laughs. “Saves me from fabricating a wild excuse to stick around longer.”

 

I blush stupidly as we inspect the tiles and find the missing ones and start replacing them. It's noisy, absorbing work that doesn't leave much room for talking. The warm spring sun has us both sweating after a few minutes.

 

“How's it going up there? Can I get you some water?” My mother shouts up to us after about forty-five minutes of work.

 

“You’re a little late, Mama. We’re already crispy corpses!” I shout down to her and Peeta grins but doesn't say a word as I move to meet my mother as she ascends the ladder with two jugs of water.

 

“How's it really going?” she whispers to me.

 

“Wonderful, Mama. But you interrupted and I'm sure he was about to propose,” I say and bat my eyelashes at her. She scowls at my obvious sarcasm and grumbles that she’s never getting grandbabies with me for an ungrateful and obstinate child.

 

I turn to find Peeta watching me, a strange smile on his face, and once more, I blush. I seem to be doing a lot of that around him.

 

“Here,” I say as I hand him one of the water jugs. We sit and sip in quiet until my curiosity gets the better of me. “If you had a life in St. Louis, why'd you come back to Twelve Willows?”

 

“Straight for the complicated questions,” he says and shakes his head before taking another drink of water. I wait while he runs a hand through his hair. He’s still not looking at me when he starts talking.

 

“Mom died shortly after her stroke and then Dad’s health started failing, too. I came back here about three years ago, thinking I'd be taking care of him for a few weeks and then returning to St. Louis, but that's when I found out just how badly the bakery had been doing. It was a wreck. Not just financially either. He was at least four years behind on routine repairs, chipmunks had moved into the cellar, hornets into the attic, and I dunno. He needed me.

 

“I needed a job here to get some kind of money flowing again, at least to pay for Dad’s medical and pay off what was left for Mom. So I applied as a deputy, since I’d just finished my Academy training and it was one of the few places hiring around here at the time. They'd all aged and wanted to retire. Did that for awhile and then Cray wanted to retire too. Madge suggested I run for sheriff. I didn't actually think anyone would vote for me, but they did.”

 

“I haven't seen your Dad since I got back,” I say quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder because the sadness in his eyes makes me think I already know the answer.

 

“He went three weeks after I took office,” Peeta says quietly. “By then, I was settled in here, and St. Louis and everything else felt so distant. No one there needed me. I doubt they even missed me.” He says this without a shred of self pity and I think of some of the things I heard his mother say to him when we were young. _ Worthless, stupid _ . She was such a bitch.

 

“So you stayed,” I finish the story.

 

“Yeah. I stayed. I've been trying to fix up the bakery, get it started again. Usually, the sheriff’s job isn't very strenuous around here. Especially since our resident streaker and coffee thief has been absent for awhile.”

 

“Well, I just thought I'd pop in and make sure you’re earning your paycheck,” I say and flip my braid over my shoulder while Peeta laughs. But he quickly sobers and stares at his hands.

 

He passes the water bottle between his palms. I hug my knees to my chest as the breeze kicks up again, cooling my skin.

 

“The first murder in Twelve Willows history happened on my watch, Katniss,” he murmurs. “We’re doing the best we can, but we're completely lost and scrambling. The town put their trust in me when they elected me to this job, and I don't want to let them down.”

 

I bite my lip as guilt hits me for the confusion I've purposefully been trying to sow in town. All I was thinking about was protecting Madge and myself. I didn't even consider how my actions would affect Peeta.

 

“You’ll figure it out,” I try to encourage, but he shakes his head.

 

“That's the thing, Katniss. I don't know if I want to. I knew Brigham stepped on toes as mayor. He's always been a bully, but I had no idea until we started talking to people about his death, just how bad it was getting. Sometimes, I think it'd just be better to let it alone. But I can't do that either. I'm supposed to uphold the law, not flagrantly disobey it. Whatever I do, I feel like I'm betraying someone.”

 

The intensity with which he speaks blows me away. His conflicted eyes lock on mine and hold me captive, draw me in closer.

 

“And I've been avoiding the worst part of this whole thing. At some point, I'm going to have to question Madge.”

 

And just like that, the spell is broken. I sway away from him and scowl. “Why? She shouldn’t have to relive every time Brigham hit her while someone jots it all down then blabs it to the rest of the town.”

 

“I know, that’s why I don’t want to do it. But you two were in the house at the time of the murder. Even if your honest answer is ‘We didn't hear or see anything--’”

 

“We didn't. We were passed out drunk,” I snap.

 

“I still need it on record, Katniss,” he says gently. “I can understand your reluctance. I didn’t like answering questions about what I did that night either. I saw, for the first time, the damage he’s done to a friend of mine, witnessed him hit someone I’ve cared about for as long as I can remember, slammed him into the ground for it, threatened to put a bullet in his head, and then decked him the first chance I got. To any sane person, that makes me a prime suspect, and I’m sorry I got so mad at you for thinking it, too. You had every reason to. But I’ve never wanted to be like that. Someone who resorts to violence as a solution, and I thought you knew that about me.”

 

“I do know that,” I admit.

 

I twist my shirt in my hands and stare at my feet as it occurs to me what Peeta’s saying. He didn’t ask me to answer questions because he automatically assumed I was guilty, but to protect myself. To get the threats I hurled at Brigham and the reasons behind them on file, like he did. The problem is, removing myself from the suspect pool shines a brighter light on Madge as a possibility. And there’s still the missing pie to contend with. But if they don’t ask about it…

 

“I’ve been such a pain, haven’t I?” I whisper and Peeta smiles at me.

 

“Yeah, but you have succeeded in making life a lot more interesting. Even without the side of murder investigation. Twelve Willows just isn’t the same without you here. ”

 

I blink and turn my face away, rubbing stray dust from my eyes. It’s the first time anyone has said anything to me that’s made me feel like I have a place in my hometown, other than as a nuisance. So before I can start to question it too much, I pick up my roofing hammer again and stand.

 

“We should finish before we really do burn to a crisp,” I say and Peeta doesn’t argue.


	14. Chapter 14

“Christ on a cracker. How many green bean casseroles does one person need?”

 

I shove my fists into my tired eyes and try to remove the hallucination from my retinas. After Peeta and I finished fixing my mother’s roof last night, she tried to get us both to stay for dinner, but I insisted that I needed to get back to Madge and Peeta said he should probably get some work done at the bakery. When I got back to the house, the things he told me on the roof kept playing over and over in my head until my cranium decided to take up the drums as a hobby. Guilt and confusion and something that smelt suspiciously like longing kept me awake most of the night, tossing and turning. It’s been so long since I’ve had a decent cup of coffee. Which explains why I think I see Johanna in Madge’s kitchen.

 

She wrinkles her nose as she lifts the foil off a casserole in the fridge and then turns to grimace at me.

 

“You look like hell,” she says. “One little murder accusation and you decide to try out  _ The Walking Dead _ look. Honey, it ain’t working for you.”

 

“I’m in survival mode here,” I mutter as I finally wake up enough to realize that I am in fact not hallucinating and Jo really is standing in front of me.

 

“Lucky for you, I brought help,” she says and waves towards the counter. I gasp and fling myself at the beauty before me.

 

“You brought Theo!” I lift him off the counter and spin with him in my arms, cradling him and then kissing his smooth surface. “Oh my darling, I’ve missed you so much. It’s been torture without you here.”

 

I glance up at Jo and carefully set Theo back on the counter before I throw myself at her. She shouts as I wrap my arms around her and then awkwardly pats my back.

 

“Okay, you are clearly in withdrawal. We’re not huggers. Or did you forget that? Jesus, Katniss, what have I missed since our last phone call?”

 

She pries herself from my arms and hands me a bag of coffee beans she must have also brought with her, along with one of my grinders. As I set to work fixing us both a decent cup of coffee, I realize that it’s been four days since we last talked. I completely forgot that she was supposed to call me back, too distracted with impeding a murder investigation, getting tased, and spending time with Peeta.

 

I catch her up on everything but my day with Peeta because I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about it and what I’m going to do, but I’m just so tired and sick of being the worst person everyone in this town knows that I start sniffling as I pour our coffee.

 

“Seriously, Kat? What’s with the tears? It’s not like you  _ actually _ killed the guy. Who cares if a bunch of country bumpkins think you did? Tell me instead where we stand with the sheriff.”

 

I take a sip of my coffee and peer into the fridge. “Wow. You’re right. There’s at least a half dozen casseroles in here. You feel like eating some mac and cheese? I’m pretty sure there’s some left somewhere in the green bean forest here.”

 

“Katniss Everdeen, what are you not telling me?” She spins me around and slams the fridge door shut, eyes going wide as she gets a good look at my face. “Holy shit! You didn’t actually kill him, did you? Damn girl, I didn’t think you had it in you!”

 

“Before we open that disaster pie, can you at least tell me what you're doing here? Is Daily Fix okay? You didn’t set it on fire, did you? Oh no, the investors heard about this murder mess and changed their mind about the franchise.”

 

Johanna grips my wrists and shoves the mug back up to my lips. “Drink like your life depends on it, Katniss, because I’m starting to think it might. The news from this thriving metropolis hasn’t reached Philly yet, although I think I did pass a Pony Express on my way in so you’re time might be limited,” she snarks. “I left Thresh and Rue in charge of the shop for a few days. That voicemail the other day was from a Deputy Buckley. We kept playing phone tag so I figured it’d be better if I just came down here. Plus, I knew you’d be suffering from Theo Deprivation.”

 

“You left Thresh and Rue in charge?” I ask and Jo rolls her eyes.

 

“They can handle it and you know it, but I love how you’re more concerned with Daily Fix than you are with the possibility that you might seriously be going to prison.”

 

“So  _ now _ you wanna believe me?” I ask and Jo smirks at me, but that’s when Madge walks into the room, humming and balancing a tray of cookies in her hands.

 

“Oh good, you’re up!” she greets me with a smile before setting the tray on the counter. I was about to come wake you but Andrea Shriver brought over cookies and I got delayed.” Jo grabs a handful from the tray and dunks one in her coffee.

 

“This chick is a fucking saint,” she says, motioning towards Madge. “I’ve had to listen to her graciously deal with people stopping by to offer bullshit condolences over the loss of that sleaze bucket abuser for the last hour. I’m ready to punch anyone on your behalf, Angel. Just point me in the right direction.”

 

I glance between my two closest friends, uncertain how Madge will feel about me telling someone she doesn’t know about Brigham’s abuse. But Madge chuckles and pours herself some coffee from Theo before sitting at the table.

 

“I see you two have more than just coffee in common,” she says and Jo slides into the chair next to her. Then Madge smiles up at me. “It’s okay, Katniss. Jo and I talked a little in between knocks on the door. I like her.”

 

“As you should,” Johanna says. “I’m hella awesome. Now, what are we gonna do about this pesky suspicion hanging around Katniss? Has she tried sleeping with the sheriff yet?”

 

“Sadly, no,” Madge laments and I groan. “I’ve tried nudging her in that direction. I even left this whole house at her disposal and sent him her way yesterday, but no luck. He’s not big into meaningless sex, though.”

 

“A romantic, huh? That’s just adorable. Although it will make things tricky since Katniss is allergic to affection. And really, Madge? Nudging? This girl needs a shove and a kick in the ass.”

 

“I am standing right here,” I complain. “And I am not allergic to affection.”

 

“And yet you’re still the number one suspect. Also not doing yourself any favors by attacking that adorable cat of your neighbor’s. He came right up to me and purred until I scratched his ears after I pulled into the driveway. Why would you want to hurt a cutie pie like that?”

 

Madge coughs at the mention of pie and Whiskers and I glare at Johanna. “You’re off my Christmas list.”

 

“Don’t you want to hear the news I brought with me? Who’s Starla Summers? I was told she got into a fight with your poor deceased husband a few weeks ago.”

 

“How did you hear about this fight if you just got here this morning?” I ask in annoyance.

 

“I smiled and chatted with the lady who runs the Gas N Sip on my way here. Told her I was a friend of Madge’s.” She shrugs and pops another cookie in her mouth like it’s no big deal.

 

“Seriously? I was born and raised here. I actually  _ am  _ Madge’s friend, and no one will give me the time of day, let alone spill secrets to me. You’re here for five minutes and their tongues start flapping in the breeze. Unbelievable,” I mutter into my mug and take a few more deep sips before I explode.

 

“Maybe you shouldn’t steal her coffee then,” Jo suggests and I grind my teeth in frustration. “Anyways, I guess Starla Summers has a son turning eighteen in a few weeks?”

 

“Yes, Eddy,” Madge offers after stifling her laugh at my expense.

 

“Apparently Eddy needs a letter of recommendation for a college application and his adoring mother took it upon herself to ask everyone’s favorite mayor to write one for him, since I guess Eddy’s been mowing your lawn and tending your roses for a while now.”

 

“A couple of years,” Madge confirms. “He does such a good job and I don’t even have to ask him to come over. He’s here every few days, even during the school year.”

 

“Well, according to Mayor Dickface, Eddy didn’t mow the grass in the correct direction one morning and since that apparently makes Eddy lazy, he refused to write the letter.”

 

“You have got to be joking,” Madge moans and rests her face in her hands.

 

“Are you really surprised by this?” Johanna asks, but she places a hand on Madge’s back and rubs soothingly. 

 

“No, I guess not,” Madge mutters.

 

“So!” Jo announces, smacking her hand on the table and making me jump. “Here’s what we’re going to do. Katniss is going to stop thinking everyone is out to get her and attempt to be kinder to the people of Twelve Willows. No more coffee thefts, no more attacking adorable cats, and no more third degree on the streets. You’ve been gone for ten years and that makes you a stranger to them now. Plus, they can tell how much you hate being here. So instead of reminding them of how you think you’re better than them, maybe try to play nice with others and they won’t be so quick to point their fingers at you.”

 

“I’ll bet they want to hear all about Philly and your life, too,” Madge says softly. “Most of them have never really left Panem County. You’re exciting and different and they don’t know what to think of you, Katniss. They never really have.”

 

I scowl into my mug and grudgingly admit that they might have a point.

 

“And,” Madge continues after a deep breath. “I’m going to tell them about Brigham hitting me so they know just how awful he was and that it’s okay that they didn’t like him as much as they thought they should.”

 

“No,” I insist. “I still stand by what we talked about before. You hid it this long for a reason and I will not stand here and watch you give them all something to gossip about when that something is painful for you to deal with.”

 

Madge bites her lip and stares at her cookies, but she nods and sniffles, wiping her nose with the back of her hand with a sigh.

 

“Well, that means that Katniss will also need to wine and dine the sheriff.”

 

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I protest, thinking guiltily of everything he told me yesterday. Johanna and Madge pay no attention to me, though.

 

“Where can one find a smoking hot sheriff on a Saturday morning around these parts?”

 

“He’s usually working on renovating his bakery Saturday mornings,” Madge offers and my ears perk up. I do want to see it after talking to him about it yesterday.

 

“Shut the front door! He’s a fucking baker, too?” Jo shouts, making us both jump and Madge’s eyes go wider than saucers. When Madge slowly nods in answer, Johanna leaps up from her chair and attacks me. She grabs me by the arms and even through my protests, I hear her muttering. “You are going to shower and shave your legs and your pits and especially your bush, even if we have to break out the weed whacker, because I will be damned if you don’t take advantage of this prime opportunity to show your neglected lady bits some love before they shrivel up from disuse.”

 

I try to fight her off, but Johanna’s surprisingly strong for her small stature and the next thing I know, I am sprawled in the tub, still in my pajamas with cold water blasting down onto me.

 

“You are dead to me!” I sputter indignantly.

 

“Then this is my spirit reaching out to you from the next realm. Trim the bush. And stop making empty murder threats. That’s what got you in this mess in the first place.”


	15. Chapter 15

“This is stupid,” I protest, squirming in their grip. Really, I’m terrified of seeing him again so soon when I still haven’t figured out what yesterday meant and what I'm going to do. I hate not having control of my life and Madge and Jo have seized control and are ordering the mass executions of dissenters.

 

“It’s brilliant and it’s going to work,” Johanna insists.

 

“You look amazing, Katniss,” Madge reassures me, referring to the tight as fuck skinny jeans, the loose shirt that falls off one shoulder, and the lacy underthings they somehow managed to procure and forced me into. I think Jo may have broken into my apartment and raided my panty drawer before she came here. They even held me down and forced mascara and lip gloss on my face. 

 

“Peeta won’t be able to resist you, which makes your job easier. And it's not really a job at all, right? You like him. You think he’s hot. His kisses turn your legs to pudding. And he  _ really  _ likes you. This’ll be good for both of you. I just know it.”

 

I feel like this is high school all over again, but I don’t say that because Madge looks truly optimistic. She’s already got so much on her mind that I hate to make a bigger deal out of Johanna’s hare-brained scheme than I need to and crush Madge’s hopes. Besides, I have no intention of actually seducing Peeta today. Not after what he said to me yesterday. I feel like I’d be using him or making everything worse by distracting him from his job. Plus there’s the poison pie secret that I’m still keeping from him.

 

I would run, but I am escorted by two very determined women with vice like grips on my arms. They march me right up to the front door and Johanna knocks while Madge giggles.

 

“It’s unlocked!” Peeta shouts from somewhere inside the building, his voice travelling through an open window.

 

My so-called friends open the door and shove me inside. I grip the box in my arms tightly against my chest, hoping it will protect me as I look around at the interior. The storefront of what was once Mellark’s Bakery is only a shell of what I remember. It’s been gutted and a few saw horses are scattered around. It’s clearly undergoing massive renovations. Music drifts through an open doorway that leads to the kitchens. Jo glances curiously around at the improvements in progress, but stands up straight as she comes face to face with Peeta when he walks through the doorway.

 

He’s wearing green again today and I can’t help but notice how it brings out his eyes. There’s a smudge of flour on his cheek, a towel in his hands as he wipes more from his wrists and fingers.

 

“Sweet mother of pearl,” Johanna mumbles as her eyes sweep down his frame and then back up.

 

“Um, hi,” Peeta says, looking between the three of us with a bemused smile on his face. “How can I help you ladies?”

 

“No need, they’re leaving,” I say quickly before Jo can turn that into an innuendo or say something else to embarrass me.

 

“We just stopped by to drop Katniss off to visit. We have errands to run, don’t we, Jo?” Madge asks and Johanna nods dumbly but moves with Madge towards the front door. “Bye, Peeta!”

 

“Is there a pharmacy nearby, Angel? Because we’re gonna need some pregnancy tests,” Johanna says.

 

“For who?” Madge asks.

 

“Me. I think  _ I  _ just got knocked up, too,” Jo says and spins around in the open doorway to look at Peeta again. “Listen here, Bread Basket, the name’s Johanna Mason and I am a raging bitch. I don’t care how hot you are, you hurt my Katniss and I will cut you. Peace!”

 

She salutes us and then whirls around to leave, her and Madge both giggling as they race back to Madge’s car parked on the street.

 

“I am really sorry about them,” I say, as Peeta shakes his head a moment, watching them through the window before looking back at me.

 

“So that’s Jo?” he asks. I bite my lip and nod, but he doesn’t seem upset by what just happened. “What brings you here today, Katniss?”

 

_ You _ , I want to say but bite back the solitary word and shrug instead. “Guess I just wanted to see the place after you talked about it yesterday.”

 

It’s not entirely a lie, and Peeta’s smile widens as he motions towards the door to the kitchen.

 

“Well there’s not much to see up here unless you renovate businesses as a side hobby, but I’ve got a batch of cheese rolls about to come out of the oven if I can tempt you with those.”

 

“You had me at  _ cheese _ ,” I say and follow him back into the kitchen, coming to an abrupt halt on the threshold as I look around. “Wow.”

 

I’d never seen the back rooms when his parents owned the place, but as I spin and take in the marble counter tops, the airy cabinetry and the recessed lighting, I somehow know that Peeta’s made improvements. The space is bright and welcoming, painted in soft blues and greens, the counters marbled in silver, grey, and cream. Even the deep mahogany finish on the floor adds to the rich comforts of the kitchen.

 

“You like it?” he asks.

 

“It feels like someone’s home kitchen,” I says. “Is the front going to be similar?”

 

“More or less,” he says as he returns to what he’d been working on when we interrupted, kneading a loaf of something heavy with spices and raisins.

 

I slide my box onto the counter and hoist myself up onto it beside Peeta, heedless of the flour that’s probably sticking to my jeans. He smiles and keeps working while we talk about his plans for the bakery and how he’s thinking of renaming it but hasn’t come up with any good ideas yet. 

 

I like watching his hands as he works. His motions are fluid and instinctual. Even though his arms flex with each movement, his face is completely relaxed. I get a little caught up in staring at his eyelashes.They’re so long and blonde, catching the lights in a weird prismatic effect that sometimes make them vanish for just a second, and I wonder how they don’t get all tangled when he blinks.

 

At one point, a bell on one of the ovens  _ dings _ and I hop down to get the rolls out so he can keep working. They smell heavenly and I almost want to gorge myself on them immediately, but Peeta reminds me that they need to cool or I’ll burn my tongue.

 

While I’m waiting for them to cool enough, I pull Theo and the other supplies I brought with me from the box, smiling shyly at Peeta as he watches with blatant curiosity. “I thought maybe you’d like a cup while you were working. Madge said you’re usually renovating on Saturdays.”

 

“Usually, but I’m waiting for my drywall for the front to be delivered. I’d still love to try your Daily Fix, though,” he murmurs. He talks for a few minutes about the recipes he’s resurrecting from when his father ran the bakery and the new ones he’s trying out, to include the cheese rolls, while I brew the coffee.

 

“There are plates in that first cabinet,” he tells me when I’ve got two mugs filled with dark and steamy, delicious goodness.

 

I grab two plates and set them on the counter, pausing as the painted surfaces catch my attention. One of them is a marbled pattern in a soft, gauzy violet and a pale grey. Blue and white puffs that make me think of a summer sky decorate the other one.

 

“These are beautiful,” I say. They look hand-painted, and I’m wondering where he got them. If the artist mass produces unique pieces like these, they might be a possible vendor for mugs for my Daily Fix franchises. Individual pieces of art that aren’t as eclectic or as expensive and time consuming as how I get the mugs now might satisfy my investors but still keep the idea. I flip one over, confused when I don’t find an artist or manufacturer stamp. “Where’d you get them?”

 

“I made them,” he says and I stare at him in confusion until something my mother said yesterday occurs to me.  _ Pottery night _ . Peeta’s been hitting up pottery night with the old ladies of Twelve Willows to make dishware for his bakery. “Is that silly?”

 

“Not in the least,” I tell him with a smile, because come on. It’s basically exactly what I do for Daily Fix, only I’m not artistically talented like Peeta is, so I buy them rather than make them. The question slips out before I can stop it or think it over too much. “Can you make coffee mugs, too?”

 

“I suppose I could,” he says and sets the dough he’d been working on aside to finish rising. He washes his hands and I scoop a cheese roll onto each of the plates. 

 

“So I guess you’ll have a seating area for the bakery this time?” I ask as I blow on the steaming cheese roll to get it to cool faster. It smells so good that I just want to tear into it, but the cheese seeping out of it and still bubbling on the surface tells me that Peeta’s right and I’ll scorch my tongue if I dive into it that fast. 

 

“Yeah,” he says cheerfully. “Just a few small tables. Nothing elaborate. There aren’t many sit-down places around here and I dunno, I thought it would be nice. Place to stop for a few minutes, enjoy a pastry or a slice of cake. I um, haven’t figured out the beverage menu yet, though.”

 

My brain kicks into business mode as I think about what roasts would pair well with the kinds of sweet treats and even the hearty breads Peeta will likely be serving, but before I can launch into making suggestions, there’s another loud knock on the door and a voice calling out to Peeta.

 

“Got your drywall out here! Anyone in?”

 

“Be right there!” Peeta shouts before lifting his mug to his lips and taking a sip. He hums in appreciation and then smiles at me before heading out to the storefront to greet Miles Birch, who runs the hardware store in town. I follow and lean against the doorway between kitchen and shop to watch and sip on my coffee. The two men haul in slabs of drywall and lean them against one wall. It’s on their second load that Miles notices me.

 

“I see you got your coffee finally,”  he says with a nod towards the mug in my hands. “Does that mean the crime rate will be going back down around here?”

 

Peeta laughs and I bite back a scathing comment, reminding myself of what Madge and Johanna suggested I do.  _ Play nice _ . I plaster a smile on my face and hold my tongue instead.

 

“Having tasted her coffee now, I can see why she’s irate without it,” Peeta offers. “It’s amazing. You should try some before you head back to the store.”

 

Miles glances between us, looking a little worried. “You sure it’s a good idea to consume something she’s fixed, Sheriff? Seems mighty risky with the number of dead bodies around here lately.”

 

I bristle at the implication that I would poison Peeta or fix anything that might taste gross. Not to mention that since his wife, Brigid Birch, runs the town’s idea of a society column that’s nothing more than trumped up gossip, I am sure that this little scene will be replayed in excruciating detail in the next issue. But Peeta moves to stand beside me and rests a hand on my back. It’s such a small touch, but the warmth from his palm and the quiet way he shows his support for me sends my middle aflutter in a not entirely unpleasant way.

 

“Come on, now, Miles. You don’t subscribe to the gossips, too, do you? Katniss grew up here. She’s as much a part of Twelve Willows as you or I, and I’d appreciate it if everyone in town would try to be a little nicer to her and give her the benefit of the doubt. Show some of the hospitality we claim to have.”

 

“Of course,” Miles says, his cheeks reddening as he scratches the back of his head and looks between the two of us then down at where Peeta’s hand rests. “Well, there’s one more load, and then I best be going. Thanks for the offer of coffee, but uh, keeps me up if I drink caffeine past two in the afternoon.”

 

He bustles back out the door and Peeta’s hand rubs over my back before he moves to follow. Looking back at me, he winks, and the town is lucky that Miles has another load and the bakery’s windows are open because I have to grip my mug and take a deep gulp to keep from throwing Peeta on the floor and demanding he take me right there.

 

Once they’re done unloading, Peeta whistles while he slides the loaf of bread into the oven and I tear off a piece of the cheese roll, glad that it’s finally cooled enough for me to taste and distract me from my thoughts of mounting Peeta in his kitchen. The flaky bite melts on my tongue, the cheeses and herbs rocketing through my taste buds as I moan in delight.

 

_ Holy fucking hell on a stick of dynamite. _

 

“Oh my god, it’s like an orgasm of the mouth,” I say and close my eyes to enjoy the effect of the second bite.

 

“So I should put those on the menu?” Peeta asks, and I can hear the amusement in his voice, but I don’t care because these things are better than sex. At least any that I’ve ever had.

 

“Fuck the rest of the menu. Just serve these,” I say and stuff a third bite in my mouth.

 

When I finally manage to open my eyes and return from my carbohydrate induced dream land, I notice that Peeta is busy cleaning up his baking mess, probably getting ready to work on the front and hang his drywall. I’m not exactly dressed for heavy construction, though and am trying to think of a way to prolong my time with him.

 

It’s not that I don’t want to be around Madge and Jo, it’s just that Madge has been so unpredictable in her moods, and I am still at a loss as to how to help her. I fixate on Peeta’s hands again, the steady motions as he wipes the counter clean and returns ingredients to their homes. He’s so calm and easygoing here, like this is the place he belongs. In a kitchen with dough between his fingers, bringing to life delicious morsels of baked delight.

 

“Did you bake while you were in St. Louis?” I ask. It's a pathetic attempt to keep talking to him, but Peeta bites.

 

“Not as much as I'd have liked,” he admits.

 

“You missed it,” I say and Peeta nods.

 

“Guess it's like you and your arrows,” he says as he finishes cleaning and stuffs his hands in his pockets.

 

That’s when it hits me. What’s missing from Madge’s life. Just like Peeta had baking and art, and I had archery and time in the woods or travelling with my Dad, Madge too used to have something that centered her life. And I know what to do. It won’t fix everything, but it’s a good place to start.

 

Peeta jumps, startled as I leap back down from the counter. I fling my arms around him, grateful for his defense of me and also for shining light where I’d only seen darkness and confusion. I press my lips to his cheek in a hasty kiss and whirl about before I let temptation take over and kiss him on the mouth.

 

“I just thought of something I need to do! I’ll see you later!” I shout as I race from the bakery, barely hearing Peeta’s farewell.


	16. Chapter 16

“There you are,” I whisper with glee as I eye my prey through the window of Effie Smith’s antiques and oddities shop. 

 

I’m actually stunned that of all the businesses in Twelve Willows that failed after the mines were shut down, this one is still somehow going. Of course, that could be because she’s married to Ferdinand Smith the Third, the heir to a mysterious fortune that no one can quite place. Some say it came from bootlegging in the twenties and the Smith’s merely invested wisely enough to stay rich for the next century. Whatever the source, the Smith’s have been the local rich snobs for ages. The town even dubbed Effie “Duchess Trinket” in honor of her superior attitude and her profession. She’s not so bad, though, once you get to know her, and man can she haggle.

 

I school my expression into one of boredom and push open the door, listening to the deep chimes set off throughout the store by my entrance.

 

“Coming, coming,” Duchess Trinket calls out from the depths of her store. As she totters out towards me on her four inch Louboutins, I glance around, feigning interest in other items first before we get to the real business at hand.

 

“My, my. This is a big, big, big surprise,” Effie says and eyes the silver set with mother of pearl inlaid on the handles that I was just looking at. I can see her mentally counting pieces and grind my teeth to refrain from making a snide comment to her. It wouldn’t do to blow it before we’ve begun to bargain. “Katniss Everdeen. Are you in the market for silver? Setting up a trousseau for after you finagle a marriage with our dear sheriff perhaps?”

 

“The silver is lovely, but no. That’s not what brought me in here today.”

 

We launch into the bargainers dance, skimming through town talk and the weather and our respective health's and our families, peppered with careful questions about the items in the store and swift rejections on my part until I can tell she’s getting frustrated and thinks I’ve only come in to waste her time. Finally, we reach the dented, scratched, and beautiful piano in the window. I’d first seen it a few days ago when I was running around causing a mess and not thought much about it until watching Peeta baking sent bells ringing in my head.

 

“Oh, you can’t be interested in  _ that _ old thing,” Effie says with a wave of her hand.

 

“It reminds me of one the Undersee’s used to have in their house,” I say as I kneel down and run a finger up the long neck of one of the swans carved into the legs.

 

“Oh! That’s because it is, darling! When Mayor Undersee stepped down, he and Mrs. Undersee sold their house and moved to the Caribbean. For their health of course. Such a stressful job, being mayor of this town.” She shakes her head in what I guess is supposed to be empathy. Before she can say a word about Brigham, I stand and flip over the price tag and wince.

 

“This much for an old scratched piano?” I lift the cover and take a gamble, hiding my triumph when I tap a key and it emits an awful noise. “And it clearly hasn’t been tuned recently.”

 

Light sparks in Effie’s eyes and we begin the real haggling. Back and forth comments about the beautiful craftsmanship or the gouge on the corner that I put there when Madge and I decided to try out her new rollerskates and couldn’t wait for the rain to clear, but Effie doesn’t need to know its origins. Questions about how long it’s been sitting in her window and disbelieving scoffs that she can’t come down on the price of something that’s been gathering dust in her shop for a little over four years.

 

“Two hundred and I’ll throw in free in-town delivery and the tools for tuning it,” Effie says, pushing on her hair to straighten her wig, which has shifted in the heat of the haggle.

 

“Done,” I say and shake her hand. She sighs and waves me towards the back of the shop to sign paperwork, calling in her husband and son to come move the piano.

 

“I can have it delivered in an hour. Is that acceptable?”

 

“Perfect,” I tell her with a smile, satisfied with my purchase.

 

“Excellent,” Effie trills as I pay.

 

“A pleasure doing business with you, Effie,” I say as I turn to leave.

 

“And with you, Miss Everdeen. So nice to have you around these parts again,” Effie says and I halt in my tracks, turning slightly to face her. I search for a sign of sarcasm or malice, but can’t find any. Disconcerted, I make one more stop before I walk back to Madge’s house.

 

“You are not supposed to be here,” Johanna scowls at me when I walk into the kitchen. “How did you mess up seducing a guy that’s had a hard on for you since you were five?”

 

“You told her that?” I ask, turning on Madge before I can think what I’m doing. Madge winces and I pull my anger back.

 

“We’re gonna need more than skinny jeans and lace panties,” Johanna mutters as she pulls a casserole from the fridge. I flip her off and then I carefully hug Madge to let her know that I’m really not mad. At least not at her. 

 

“What happened?” she asks.

 

“Nothing. I had a nice afternoon with Peeta and then I thought of something I needed to take care of. No laws broken. No pitchfork mobs.”

 

Madge snorts and motions towards the salad she’s fixing to go with whatever casserole Johanna has scrounged up for us to eat. “Care to help with dinner then?”

 

We chat and work quickly while I try not to give away my plan. It’s not easy. I’m excited and nervous to see Madge’s reaction. We’re clearing the dinner dishes when there’s a knock on the door and I offer to get it, flipping Jo off again when she reminds me to play nice.

 

“Hello!” I cheerfully greet Ferdinands the Third and Fourth. “Bring it right in!”

 

It takes a few tries to get the piano through the front door, and the noise draws Madge and Johanna out to the hallway. Madge gasps, and I look nervously back at her to gauge her reaction. She silently follows the men into the front room, her eyes wide, and doesn't protest as I grab a bunch of picture frames and more of Brigham’s dumb awards off of the table in a place of prominence by the bay window that overlooks the front yard, tossing them all into a box that Jo procures once she figures out my plans. The table is moved out of the way and the legs reattached to the piano.

 

Ferdinand the Fourth hands Madge the tuning tools. “Ma’am, we tuned it before we brought it over, but here you are, for future use. Have a nice evening.”

 

They leave us in stunned silence and I’m starting to worry that maybe I guessed wrong until Madge drops heavily onto the bench, and with shaking hands, lifts the cover off the keys. She sets her fingers in place, her mouth opening and closing as tears form in her eyes. Sunlight gleams off the polished wood and Madge’s blonde hair, creating an almost halo effect as Jo stands beside me and slings an arm around my waist.

 

“Katniss...I…” Madge stutters and swallows heavily.

 

“Consider it ten years worth of birthday and Christmas presents,” I tell her before she can make an excuse about the extravagant gift. I don’t give a fuck. I just want her to be happy again.

 

She stares at me, shaking her head. “He wouldn’t let me have one. Not even this one from my parents. Said the racket gave him a headache. I played for church services and school plays, practiced at the church on their piano once a week to prepare, but...that gets so monotonous after awhile and…”

 

Madge trails off and we all remain frozen, silent, as the weight of how deep Brigham’s control over Madge was permeates the air. Johanna manages to break the spell.

 

“Well go on then, Angel, play something new,” she urges. I grab the sheet music I bought at my second stop this afternoon from my purse and set it up in front of her.

 

“Wasn’t sure what you’d already have, so I got a variety.”

 

She blinks and looks down at the keys, shaking her head in disbelief as a joyful smile takes over her lips and her hands dive into a concerto she must’ve memorized ages ago. She misses a few notes, but she’s crying and smiling, her house filled with beautiful racket. Without warning, she stops and laughs, sobers to wipe her tears and then grins, looking up at us mischievously.

 

“Don’t make me do this alone,” she says. I am confused as she starts a different song, hands running up the notes and then part way back down. When she launches into singing the new song, I understand. “At first I was afraid, I was petrified, kept thinking I could never live without you by my side…”

 

I join her on the next line and Johanna jumps back away from me, staring at me in shock. It occurs to me that I’ve never sung around Johanna, but I am too focused on getting Madge to enjoy this that I ignore Jo’s reaction.

 

Madge giggles as I take over the singing but keeps playing and within a few bars, she rejoins and Johanna adds her voice to ours. By the time we’re wishing we’d changed the stupid locks, Jo slides onto the seat next to Madge and picks up the bass lines on the keys while I sing and dance around the piano.

 

During the bridge, there’s a loud knock on the door, and Jo jumps up from the bench, “Keep going, girls! I’ll get it!”

 

She sashays towards the front door while Madge pounds out the melody and I sing my heart out. It’s been so long since I’ve sung like this that my voice is rough and a little raw, but I’m just so glad to see the uninhibited joy on Madge’s face, the bright smile of midnight streaking and running from black bears and snatching apples from the MacPherson orchard after getting second hand marijuana high at a party neither of us wanted to be at, that I keep going.

 

“Oh, as long as I know how to love, I know I’ll stay alive!” I belt out as I spin with my arms in the air and freeze, my voice dying in my throat as Johanna dances gleefully in the hallway behind Peeta, who’s standing in the doorway to the living room, holding the box that I forgot about and left at his bakery in my haste to go buy a piano, a completely unreadable expression on his face. His hair is damp and curling at the ends, and he’s wearing fresh clothes. He must’ve taken a shower right before he came over. Behind me, Madge stops playing with a few loud, clunky notes.

 

“Don't stop on my account,” Peeta murmurs, his eyes riveted to mine. Unbearable heat rushes through me and I grab at the edges of my braid just to have something to do with my hands.

 

“That's okay,” Madge says hastily. “Johanna and I were about to leave anyways.”

 

“What?” I ask in confusion. Madge throws her arms around me and squeezes tightly. 

 

“Thank you  _ so much _ , Katniss. Now you should do something for yourself and stop worrying about me for one night, okay?” She kisses my cheek and then bustles past me and pauses by Peeta.

 

“She got me a piano!” she squeaks happily at him, and he smiles, her joy clearly contagious.

 

“Where are you going?” I ask testily as Johanna reappears with two bags in her hands, handing one to Madge. I push past Peeta to follow them into the hallway.

 

“We’re staying overnight at that new spa retreat your mother works at on the lake,” Johanna tells me. Madge bites her lip and glances between Peeta and I.

 

“We made the reservations this afternoon. We didn't think you'd mind, Katniss,” she explains and then switches to a whisper that’s not quiet enough. “We thought you'd be occupied all night.”

 

Peeta coughs and my cheeks burn in humiliation.

 

“Alright kids, Mommy Johanna and Mommy Margaret are outta here. Behave yourselves while we're gone!” With that, she grabs Madge's arm and races out the door. It slams behind them and I am once more left alone with Peeta. 

 

Well this is awkward. But the box in his arms gives me something to focus on.

 

“I guess that’s mine,” I say and wave towards it.

 

“Yeah, you said to bring it over, so…” he trails off as I groan and return to the kitchen. I can’t believe she’d do this to me. Actually, I can totally believe it. Yep. There’s my phone on the counter. I pick it up and it  _ pings  _ with a text from Johanna.

 

_ If you didn’t want me to meddle, you shouldn’t have left your phone lying around without a lock code! We left you a present on the nightstand so at least try to make it to the bedroom for Round 1. You’re welcome, beyotch. You can thank me in the morning. _

 

“You didn’t send that text, did you?” Peeta asks and slides the box onto the counter, not meeting my eyes, his cheeks flushed as he carefully unloads Theo and Madge’s mugs, all of which he clearly washed before returning them. There’s also a plastic container filled with the cheese buns he made today.

 

“No, I didn’t,” I tell him, frantically opening up the message thread with him and scrolling up. There’s one from him, just mentioning that I’d left my coffee press and mugs at the bakery. Then there’s the one Johanna sent to him in reply, probably while I was busy showing the Ferdinands where to put the piano.

 

_ Bring them and your hot baguette by the house for a tasting party. Now. Clothing optional. _

 

I’m going to kill her. For real.

 

“I don't know what to say, Peeta,” I stutter. “Jo has, um, no filter and she must’ve sent it.”

 

“It’s fine, Katniss. It felt a little forward for you, especially since you’re not in coffee withdrawal anymore,” Peeta teases and leans one hip against the counter, hands shoved in his pockets. 

 

As I look at him, though, I start to think that maybe this isn’t a horrible thing to happen and that maybe Madge was right. He clearly rushed over here when he thought I might’ve sent the message, but beyond that, I realize now that he’s here and we’re alone again, I don’t want him to go yet. And it has nothing to do with distracting him from the investigation, or the pressure my friends have been placing on me to sleep with him, or the fact that I don’t like the idea of being alone in this house tonight. It’s  _ him _ . I just  _ really _ want to be with Peeta.

 

I slide my phone back on the counter and shrug, hoping I’m not completely inept at flirting and unsure how to tell him what I want.

 

“I’m not exactly mad at her for it, though,” I whisper.

 

“You’re not?” And something bright and hopeful flashes in Peeta’s eyes when I shake my head. He tilts his head and pushes off the counter to take a few steps towards me.

 

“So there’s still a chance of a tasting party?” he asks and I laugh nervously because god I suck at this. I can count on one hand the number of guys I’ve slept with. I don't even need my whole hand to keep track. That’s probably not even enough to know what I’m doing and none of them were all that satisfactory, but Peeta Mellark can just look at me the way he is now, and with a few sentences, set my blood to singing. But there’s no way I’m telling  _ him _ that and giving him the upper hand this fast.

 

“I wouldn’t rule it out just yet,” I whisper, my voice all breathy and unrecognizable as my own. My feet are rooted in place as he advances a few more careful steps until his boots nudge into mine and I have to tilt my head back a little to look up at him. My heart starts stampeding in my chest as his lips tip up on one side in the beginnings of a smile and his cinnamon scent surrounds me, stronger than ever, so I know that it’s his soap. I am fucking weak in the knees for soap.

 

“I have a few questions first,” he says. For a second I’m afraid he’s going to ruin everything by bringing up the murder, but he smiles fully and holds my gaze as he speaks again. “Are you going to get a case of the giggles when I kiss you this time?”

 

I chuckle, but quickly stifle it, pursing my lips together to shake my head. He reaches out and lays his hand on the side of my neck, gentle and unwavering. His other hand cups my ass and grips it tight, hauling me against him. I gasp and my hands fly up to his shoulders, but there’s not a laugh in sight as he lowers his head towards mine. My mouth relaxes in anticipation of his kiss, but all he does is brush his lips back and forth in a tease until I’m half out of my mind with wanting him to kiss me and I almost scream in frustration.

 

“Have you been picturing me naked again, Katniss?” I can’t help it. I laugh again, louder this time, thinking of how I reacted to his defense of me in the bakery. But Peeta’s smiling too and I slide my hands around his neck so my chest presses to his and I can finger the damp edges of his hair.

 

“I’ll never tell,” I whisper when I get my laughter under control.

 

“Last question,” he murmurs. “Do you remember what I said a few nights ago? About not missing my chance to make sure you’d never forget me again?”

 

Our noses bump when I nod and he smiles wide enough to bring out those damn dimples.

 

“Keep that in mind,” he says and then takes one more step, moving us back until I am pressed between him and the kitchen wall as his lips join with mine. 


	17. Chapter 17

There was a part of me that wondered if the feelings Peeta awakened in me with that first kiss were a fluke, the product of stress and a day spent craving any kind of comfort or attention. They weren't.

 

He’s barely touched his lips to mine before those feelings roar back to life. Stronger and more defined as I pull on his hair and part my lips to beg for more. He gives it without hesitation, and I wonder how I've gone my entire life without knowing this kind of hunger for another person. 

 

Peeta slides his hand down my thigh and lifts it to wrap my leg around his hip, widening my stance. The need burns a rapid course straight to my core and I claw at the back of his head, meeting each determined swipe of his tongue inside my mouth with one of my own until we both moan into the kiss and his hips push into mine. 

 

He comes up for air and I whimper at the loss of his lips, but he moves them immediately to a tender spot below my jaw, sucking and licking until my knee starts to give out with how hard it's shaking. His hand skims down from my neck to pause over my heart before sliding to the side to palm my breast. And when his thumb swipes over my nipple, that knee slowly buckles and Peeta shifts his hands to keep my ass from hitting the floor. I take my leg back from around his waist and push him away from me, but only so I can chase after him and tear his shirt from his body.

 

We stumble and kiss our way into the hallway and knock into the table as he removes my shirt and I lose my balance for a second. His hands steady me as a picture falls to the floor and the glass shatters. 

 

“Shit,” Peeta says, looking towards the damage. I grab his chin and bring his eyes back to mine.

 

“They’re all of Brigham’s stupid face anyways. I don’t know why Madge and I haven’t burned them already.” 

 

Peeta smiles and bends his head to bite my earlobe then kiss his way down my neck. We leave shoes and socks in our wake. Halfway up the stairs, we manage to get my jeans off, but one of us trips. Once more, Peeta catches me, softening the fall, and I ignore the discomfort of the stairs digging into my back because now it’s his mouth covering my breast. I wrap my legs and arms around him, nails digging into his neck as he tongues my nipple through the lace of my bra. 

 

His touch consumes all thoughts as I become a creature of need. Somehow, he stands with me in his arms and my breast in his mouth, climbing the rest of the stairs for us both while I shamelessly writhe in his arms. At the top of the stairs, he pauses. Sucks my nipple deep in his mouth, making my eyes roll back in my head as he lifts his head, stretching my flesh and the lace of my bra until he finally releases it and I shout in frustration.

 

“Which room, Katniss?” he asks. I point blindly and barely have time to check our surroundings to make sure I showed him the right one before he tumbles us both across the bed and resumes kissing every inch of my skin.

 

The sun’s fading glow fills the room with soft light, burnishing his hair and his body golden. I try to watch as he works his way towards my thighs, but it takes so much effort to keep my head lifted that I keep dropping it back on the mattress until he does something unexpected, like nipping at my sides or running the flat of his tongue over the length of my hip bone. Every time I manage to watch for a few seconds, though, he looks up at me from beneath his long lashes, eyes dark and intense. Hungry. Determined. Just that look alone would be enough to turn me on, but coupled with the kisses and the heat of his bare skin against mine, it sends my need for him out of orbit and on it’s way to Venus.

 

I squirm and grip the sheets at my sides, wanting more than anything to touch him but afraid that if I do, I’ll disrupt the things he’s doing to me. By the time he finally peels away my panties, they’re soaked through and ruined and I couldn’t care less. I just want his mouth on me.

 

His warm breath skims over me as he hovers there, his hands pushing my thighs open wide before sliding beneath my legs to bracket my waist. I’m strung so tight, I may break with the first touch of his lips.

 

“Katniss, look at me,” he murmurs. I manage to lift my head and stare down at him as his tongue finally takes his first taste of me.

 

“F-f-f-uuuuck,” I moan as he does it again, this time pausing to flick my clit. And watching his head between my legs with his eyes gazing up at me is the most erotic thing I’ve ever had the pleasure to see.

 

I quickly give up on keeping track of what he’s doing, too lost in the feelings as he licks and sucks and drinks, his tongue swirling then flicking then plunging and doing it all over again. Whenever I buck my hips and let loose a throaty cry, he focuses wherever he just touched until I wriggle part way up the bed, uncertain if I can handle it if he keeps going and wanting nothing more than to find out. He follows me up the bed, unrelenting in his pursuit of my release.

 

My head eventually reaches the edge of the mattress and tips over, but Peeta doesn’t seem to notice, still intent on burning me alive with his mouth. He hums into me as blood rushes to my tipped upside down head and I scream at the currents shooting through me. I grip his hair and shove his face into me, his muffled sound of surprise and Peeta’s tongue licking up my release only draws it out until I am hoarse. As quickly as it came on, the pleasure recedes, leaving me limp and forever changed.  

 

He slowly pulls me fully back onto the bed, but I don’t move or open my eyes when his warmth leaves me until I hear the sounds of a belt buckle. I force myself up and onto my elbows to watch him, standing at the side of the bed and unzipping his jeans, because Peeta undressing is not something that I want to miss. I don’t care that my legs are still sprawled open wide in an unladylike fashion. Besides, given the way Peeta’s eyes keep roaming over me, still dark and hungry, I don’t think he minds. He shoves his jeans down his legs and moves to crawl back on the bed, but I shake my head to stop him.

 

“Those too, Peeta,” I motion towards the black cotton boxer briefs then bite my lip. He smiles, though, and drops them to floor as well. 

 

I have to bite my lip harder so I don’t say anything dumb or incriminating, because  _ packing the heat _ would certainly be an appropriate way to describe Peeta. He crawls back over me, retracing his earlier path back up my body with his lips, and I grope behind me for the present Jo said she left me on the nightstand, praying to every deity known to the history of mankind that she left me condoms and maybe some lube. 

 

My movements catch Peeta’s attention and his eyes widen a little as he spots the box of condoms I’ve finally gotten a grip on. And suddenly, I’m embarrassed.

 

“Um, Johanna made that pharmacy run, and--” Peeta laughs and I wriggle, wanting to get away from him because it’s pretty dumb to bring up another woman while you’re in bed with a hot guy, and now I’m worried that he must think I’m slutty and easy, with my jumbo pack of XL condoms within easy reach. But he did come rushing over at the beck and call of a text message that said  _ clothing optional, _ and it’d be pretty hypocritical of him to think less of me for protecting myself, and my head is starting to hurt.

 

“Katniss, stop it,” he murmurs, gently brushing my hair off my forehead before kissing me. I relax with his lips caressing mine.

 

I ran wild as a girl. Tamed a lynx to follow me in the woods. Danced naked on a cliff to greet the first full moon of spring. Climbed trees and shot arrows and gave my mother at least a dozen heart attacks. But I waited until college to have sex and I’m not sure it was worth it anymore when Peeta was here all along. I have no idea how to tell him that I’m scared that he’s built me up so far in his ten years of regrets and lifetime of fantasies that there’s no way I’ll live up to his expectations.

 

“You have no idea how fucking sexy you are, do you?” Bewildered by his words, I stare up at him, as he smiles at me. “As much as I want to bury myself in you right now and forget that the rest of the world exists, I’ll stop this second if you’re not sure that this is what you want.”

 

I hear his unspoken words in the uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

 

_ That  _ I’m  _ what you want. _

 

He’s the one with no idea. I yearn for him. So much that it frightens me a little.

 

Which is exactly why I rip open the box and fling it aside once I’ve got a foil wrapped condom in my hand. I don’t run from my fears. 

 

He takes it from me and sits back on his knees to put it on while I watch. Then he covers me once more and I run my hands up and down his arms, feeling the flex of his muscles beneath his skin. I close my eyes as the head of his cock spreads my folds just a little. Then his lips find mine again, coaxing me into a slow, heated kiss that turns my legs and my body to pudding.

 

His tongue dips into my mouth as he pushes himself inside me. They retreat in unison, just a little before surging back forward, deeper this time. Again and again as my walls slowly stretch to accept him. But his kisses and the slow revolutions of his thumb on my clit and the remnants of my recent orgasm have me rolling my hips to meet him and take more of him until he’s sheathed fully inside me.

 

Peeta doesn’t stop kissing me, although he holds still inside me, and the longer he waits without moving, the more I want to feel him. I whimper in impatience and try to thrust up into him, although I can’t move much with his weight blanketing me. He pulls out just a small amount and thrusts back in, and oh my god the friction. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I tear my mouth away from his to moan. Smack my hands onto his ass and dig my nails in.

 

He thrusts slow and deep but with enough force to make the headboard pound into the wall and send lightning dancing across my eyelids. His soft moans join the sounds filling the room. He reaches back to grab one of my hands and pins it to the bed over my head, our fingers lacing together as he slams his mouth into mine at the same time he thrusts into me. And it feels so good that I forget about everything but this and willingly hand control to him, throwing my other hand over my head for him to pin there as well. I grip his fingers like they're the last line tethering me to life, and they just might be as I wrap my legs around his waist and lift my hips off the bed to meet his.

 

My toes start to tingle and I moan into his mouth, hoping he understands as the sensation travels up my legs so fast I don’t have time to brace myself before my walls clench and I start thrashing beneath him. He lifts his head and moves faster between my legs as I scream his name and my back arches so far I’m afraid it might snap.

 

He lets go of my hands and wraps his arms around me, holding me close as he buries his face in the crook of my neck and pounds into me until he’s groaning my name and a dozen curse words while I’m still coming apart at the seams.

 

Peeta slams into me one last time and collapses, flattening us both on the bed as he pants against my neck and mumbles my name everytime my walls flutter around him in an aftershock.

 

And as I lay there in blissful, satisfied shock, I know that there is nothing on the face of this world that could make me forget him or the way he makes me feel.


	18. Chapter 18

“Mmph, Peeta?” I murmur, still half asleep as I shove hair out of my face and try to make sense of why I’m aroused, already uncomfortably slick between my legs. His lips caress over my spine, broad palms grazing down my sides. Ah.  _ That’s _ why. I shiver and grip the pillow beneath my cheek, smiling and content to let him take the lead again. “From now on, it’s illegal for you to wake me any way other than this. Unless you have coffee.”

 

He chuckles and I stare out the window at the full moon, completely at ease as he covers my back with his kisses. I figured he’d already made his point and solidified himself in my memory forever yesterday evening, but it would seem that Peeta doesn’t plan on leaving room for error. After we’d collapsed on the bed, both of us succumbed to exhaustion and slept for an hour or so. Shortly after sunset, I woke with his hands between my thighs, already on the precipice of another mind-blowing orgasm. Once I’d gathered my wits, I pushed him back into the pillows and took  _ my _ turn kissing and touching all over his body. It is a tasting party, after all.

 

Now, with only the moonlight to guide him, he gradually moves lower, hands curling beneath my legs to lift my hips off the bed and set me on my knees. He’s already hot and hard, his cock brushing the back of my thigh for a moment. Then his fingers trace over my folds and he groans into the dip of my lower back.

 

“Fuck, Katniss. I need you in my mouth again,” he warns me. 

 

I expect him to flip me over, but instead, I feel the brush of his hair on my legs and then his hands on my ass, pulling my hips down on top of his mouth. I curse when his tongue parts me and I might thrust down into him too hard, but Peeta eats with single-minded determination. I have to brace my hands on the headboard and my body bows to keep from crushing his face as his mouth and fingers reinforce what I already know. Peeta can play my body like a finely tuned instrument of pleasure. I’m starting to think his mouth was put on this earth with the sole purpose of making me come.

 

It’s a slow build this time, but he’s in no hurry, leisurely working me over with every part of his mouth until I’m gasping and wound tight enough to break. He backs off just as I dangle over the edge and I growl in frustration. He does it again, dragging me back from my peak at the last second until I think I might black out from the need to come. 

 

“Peeta, please,” I beg desperately as he gets me close again. When he moans into me, the vibrations send me flying apart into a hundred thousand shimmering lights.

 

While I’m still recovering and mumbling nonsense, Peeta slides out from between my legs and lays over my back to reach for the condoms.

 

“You’re the most delicious thing I’ve ever tasted,” he murmurs and kisses my shoulder, the back of my neck while he deals with the condom. Then he’s sliding into me again, one exquisite inch at a time, his fingers digging into my ass and his breathing harsh. Once he’s all the way in, he braces one hand on the bed and twines the other around me, holding my back to his heated chest and nibbling on my ear. “And being inside you is unbelievably satisfying.”

 

I can’t answer him as he starts to move, grunting and whispering in my ear. Confessions and expressions of need that do as much to drive me towards completion as his cock hitting deep hidden places inside me that set the world afire. I grip the sheets beneath me and bite the pillow to muffle my moans as the first tremors begin.

 

“Are you coming  _ again _ ?” he asks, his voice desperate and awed as I nod. “ _ Fuck.  _ Kiss me, Katniss,” he demands as his thrusts stutter and I turn my head enough for his lips to find mine in the moonlight. His tongue claims my mouth the same way his cock claims my body and it’s the last thing I need to send me hurtling back over the edge alongside him. I bite his lip to keep from screaming as I shudder with the strength of it. Peeta’s hips smack into my ass and he stays there, buried deep as he groans and I feel his thighs quivering behind mine.

 

We melt into the mattress and Peeta hugs me to him as we lay on our sides. I should probably go clean up a little, but I'm just so tired and sated, that I settle deeper into the covers. With Peeta’s arms around me and his lips leaving petal soft kisses on my ear and neck, sleep is inescapable.

 

************************

 

I am despicable. 

 

Somewhere in the midst of Peeta taking me seriously and waking me in the morning with his head between my legs, then us showering and laughing together as we washed, before he made the shower pointless by fucking me against the bathroom door until I saw stars and heard angels singing and almost confessed everything as he kissed me down from my high like I’m something precious to be protected and not like he’d just railed me against the door hard enough to make the hinges rattle and groan and leave an imprint of the woodgrain in my back, and standing shoulder to shoulder in Madge’s kitchen while we worked together to fix a hearty breakfast -- which really should be called lunch given how late it is -- because we’d both worked up an insane appetite, I admitted to myself that I should’ve told him everything  _ before _ I slept with him. Because now I don’t even know where or how to start. And he’s not helping, sitting at the table in nothing but his jeans from yesterday, his chest and shoulders on plain display for my benefit, his hair tousled, and my feet in his lap where he massages them one handed and shovels his first bite of the food we made together into his mouth.

 

He looks so happy and relaxed that I can't quite bring myself to tell him about the pie and that there might be some truth to the rumors the town has been heaping on his desk as evidence. I need to tell him, though. I’ll find a way to take all the blame, claim I got Madge drunk -- which is true -- and that I was the mastermind behind the great poison pie caper.

 

“Everything taste okay?” I ask instead.

 

“Tastes great,” he says with a slow grin. “Not the most delicious thing I’ve had in my mouth in the last twenty-four hours, but still great.”

 

My stomach does cartwheels when his gaze sweeps over me and I have to remind myself that I need to tell him about the pie and that he might’ve had lots of hot, dirty sex with a murderer last night and again this morning, but it’s hard to do when what I really want is to crawl across the table, lick his dimples and then ride him in his chair. They look fairly sturdy…

 

I shove food in my mouth to keep from acting on my desires. “So why law enforcement? Weren’t you going to study to be a lawyer like your brothers?” I ask in between bites, and Peeta shrugs.

 

“Wasn’t as smart as my brothers,” he says and I open my mouth to contradict him, but he keeps talking. “Besides, there’s already so many lawyers and I guess I thought I could make more of a difference wearing a badge instead. All these stories about things getting out of hand and cops resorting to using their weapons when they probably shouldn’t have, and I just thought there should be more of us who wanted to try everything else first. Sounds a bit idiotic when I try to explain it. Is there more coffee?”

 

I lay my hand on his before he can stand and now I feel even more guilty. He’d said he’d already gone through training before he moved back here and I wonder if he’d planned on working for the police in St. Louis then managed a transfer here to take care of his dad instead. 

 

“It doesn’t sound idiotic at all,” I say and he meets my eyes for a moment before tugging me out of my chair and onto his lap.

 

“You know what  _ should  _ be illegal?” he asks as he smiles up at me and runs his hands up my legs to knead my backside. “Your ass in these shorts. I’ll let you off with a warning this time, Miss Everdeen, but wear them again and I might have to arrest you.”

 

“I like these shorts,” I protest weakly. “What do you suggest I wear to sleep instead?”

 

“Nothing,” he says with a grin and a swift lick over my neck. “Or me.”

 

“Peeta, there’s something--”

 

“Knock, knock! Anyone home?” Someone calls through the door leading from the kitchen out to the wrap around porch, just as I’d finally managed to work up the courage to confess to Peeta. He kisses my cheek and lifts me off of him, before he goes to answer the door. I flop back down to eat my breakfast because I’m pretty sure they don’t serve food this good in prison, and they certainly don’t serve it with a side of hot man to ogle. When he greets Eustice Ripper and ushers her into the kitchen, I have to stifle a groan and focus on the delicious food instead.

 

“What brings you by, Eustice?” Peeta asks.

 

“We missed ya’ll at church this morning,” she says. “I just wanted to make sure everyone was alright and to bring by one of my famous lemon custard pies for Madge and that friend of hers who came to town yesterday, if she’s still here.”

 

I grind my teeth and stuff more of the scrambled eggs into my mouth to keep myself from insulting her.

 

“Madge and Johanna spent some time up at the lake, but I’ll be sure to let her know you stopped by. It’s very thoughtful of you,” Peeta says kindly, accepting the pie and setting it on the countertop.

 

“Oh that’s good to hear!” Eustice exclaims. “It’d do poor Madge good to get away from the house and pamper herself after the sadness of the past few days. She’s fortunate to have such a caring friend.”

 

At this, she looks straight at me and I grip my fork tightly to keep from flying out of my chair and scratching her eyes out at the implication that I’m less than a caring friend.

 

“I see the rumors Brigid told me are true. Unless  _ she’s _ holding you here against your will. Do you need one of those safe word things, sheriff?” Eustice whispers the question to him and I really am about to slit her throat and then go take care of her mangy cats when I’m done, but Peeta places a hand on my shoulder to keep me in my chair. And just like in the bakery, he quietly and kindly reminds Eustice of her manners. She blinks at him and then glances at me.

 

“Would you care for a cup of coffee? Since you were kind enough to bring over the pie,” Peeta asks her and she gapes at him and his bare chest and me in my pajama shorts and sweatshirt and finally nods.

 

“I suppose one cup wouldn’t hurt,” she says. Peeta has to nudge me to get me to move, but once I do, I quickly prepare the coffee for her and hand her a mug. She takes a slow sip at first and then a hasty gulp. Peeta smiles at me, picking his shirt up from where it’s draped over one of the chairs and putting it back on. I fight down my mixed feelings at this and make myself smile at Eustice.

 

“How’s Whiskers doing this morning?” I ask quietly, hoping he hasn’t keeled over and died since I’m pretty sure she’d find a way to blame me for that.

 

“Oh he’s in a snit,” Eustice says with the first hint of exasperation I’ve ever heard her use to talk about one of her cats. “Refused to go outside this morning. That reminds me, sheriff, something outside smells like it died.”

 

“Huh, I’ll go check it out in a minute,” Peeta promises. Eustice finishes her drink and then heads back to her house, giving me a grudging compliment on the coffee before she goes. Peeta lifts the glass lid on the pie dish and smiles.

 

“All we need is some strawberry and we’d have enough for a sampling,” he says and I grip my mug and try not to choke on my saliva. I really need to tell him, and I’ve just managed to find my voice again as Peeta sits in one of the kitchen chairs to put his socks and boots back on, when another interruption graces us with it’s delights.

 

“Put your clothes back on and stop using the lord’s name in vain, you sinners! Mommy and Mommy are home!” Johanna yells and the front door slams. I groan and Peeta chuckles under his breath. 

 

“Well, well,” she breaths as she and Madge walk into the kitchen and examine us. “You two look...satisfied this morning. Did you at least clean off the kitchen table when you were done? We have to eat there later, you know.”

 

“Did the spa kick you out after they realized there’s no herbal cure for bitchiness?” I ask and bat my eyelashes at her.

 

“Oh there’s an herbal cure for it, alright. I can smell you’ve finally discovered it. Only one problem, you gotta air out the stank afterwards, skank,” Jo throws right back, pinching her nose and waving a hand beneath it.

 

“That’s enough, you too,” Madge says with a smile. “But really, what is that smell outside? It’s not the herbal cure for bitchiness, that’s for sure.”

 

Jo moves to stand beside me and pour herself some coffee, bumping her hip into mine and whispering. “She’s not kidding. Inside might smell like you spent the night riding the sheriff like a jockey at the derby, but outside smells like satan’s butthole. Do I need to club him over the head so you can dispose of more evidence?”

 

“Eustice was complaining about a stench when she dropped in with a pie, too,” Peeta says and misses or ignores the choking noises Madge and Jo both stifle. I’m guessing Madge told Jo about the poison pie because she gives me another look as Peeta heads towards the door. “I’ll go see what it is.”

 

We hesitate for a moment and then rush to follow him out the door and across the porch, Johanna gripping my arm and hissing in my ear. “I’m not joking. I’ve got a tire iron in my trunk.”

 

“Stop it,” I whisper.

 

“If you find another dead body back there, sheriff, I’ll have Blue stand watch to make sure Katniss doesn’t flee the scene!” Elvira Thompson shouts from her yard as we make our way along the side of the house.

 

Peeta waves at her but otherwise ignores her as we follow the smell. It’s wretched and getting stronger with every step we take towards the woods. We’ve barely made it five feet into the treeline when Peeta halts and holds out both arms to stop us from going any further. The three of us crowd up into his arms and peer over them at what caught his attention on the ground: a trio of very dead racoons and a white pie plate with roses on the trim.

 

“So  _ that’s _ where it went,” Madge exclaims.

 

Peeta looks up at her in confusion and Madge misses the shake of my head or misunderstands it because she starts rambling and makes things worse.

 

“I mean, that’s where  _ they _ went. As in the raccoons. I hadn’t seen them in a few days and was worried since raccoons on the loose could’ve been dangerous.”

 

“Because of rabies,” I blurt out, furious with myself for not talking sooner and letting Madge lead us down this road of more lies, but what am I supposed to do? This is not exactly the ideal place to call her out on our cover up. Not when our lies are so tangled up with my feelings for Peeta and what happened last night. I need to talk to him without an audience, so maybe it’ll hurt less when I tell him that I’m the real Lying McLiarson. “We meant to report them since raccoons  _ with rabies _ are dangerous.”

 

“Isn’t this one of yours, Madge?” Peeta asks, kneeling on the ground and reaching for the pie plate. “Looks like they ate whatever was in it and then just keeled over and died.”

 

“Oh no, that’s not mine,” Madge insists. “All of my pie plates are accounted for, and I hate roses. They’re so pretentious.”

 

_ Really?!  _ I mouth to her and she shakes her head helplessly at me and Johanna rolls her eyes. Peeta flips the pie plate over and stands with it in his hands, one eyebrow raised as he shows us the writing on the bottom:  _ Property of Margaret Tate. _ Johanna shakes her head and bows it. I’m waiting for her to throw her hands in the air and call us idiots.

 

“What Madge is  _ trying  _ to say and can’t, on account of her being traumatized by all this death,” I say through gritted teeth, “is that is one of her old pie plates. She got rid of them weeks ago and bought all new ones.”

 

“Yes!” Madge says and latches onto my lies. “It turns out the glaze on those dishes causes cancer. So I threw them all out, and that’s what must’ve killed the raccoons!”

 

“Are you suggesting that these raccoons dug through your trash, pulled out one of your old pie plates, baked their own little raccoon pies, and then just dropped dead of cancer?” Peeta asks. 

 

His voice is low and carries an edge of steel and he says all of this while looking straight at me. And I want to die right next to the raccoons for how awful I feel that I didn’t tell him sooner while he’s been pulling his hair out at work trying to solve a murder and I’ve only made things worse. Not to mention that keeping secrets from him is probably not a good way to thank the man who gave me more superior and just more orgasms in general in twelve hours than I can manage with my vibrator, let alone what I managed in weeks with my last steady boyfriend. I can see in his eyes that he’s not sure if he should be hurt or angry with me, and I open my mouth to say something,  _ anything _ to let him know I had every intention of telling him, but Madge grabs my arm and tugs to start dragging me away.

 

“Well, maybe not the raccoons baking pie part, but they must’ve licked some kind of food residue off of it, and look at that! They died of cancer, which just shows I was right to get rid of those plates,” she rambles and Peeta’s eyes narrow, but he’s still looking at me and not her. “If you’d just take care of the raccoon carcasses, we’ll go make sure I didn’t miss any cancerous plates. Thanks sheriff!”

 

My limbs finally obey Madge’s urgings and the three of us race back to the house.

 

“Fucking hell, Brainless and Brainless, how have you two not been arrested yet? He must’ve wanted in your panties even worse than I thought,” Johanna says as Peeta roars my name and Madge yanks me up the porch steps and flings us all inside.

 

“Shut your pie hole, do you know what this means?” Madge shouts gleefully, grabbing one of each of our arms. 

 

“That you’re both whacked enough to fail the psych evaluation and miss out on the death penalty?” Jo asks.

 

“No, this means that we officially did not kill my husband with a poisoned strawberry pie!” she squeals and jumps up and down like an excited child.

 

It takes a few seconds for her words to sink in through the guilt and sickening feeling that I somehow betrayed Peeta, but when they finally do, a slow smile stretches across my face and a weight lifts free of my shoulders.

 

“We’re not murderers,” I whisper. But then an awful thought occurs to me and kills my relief. “But we are responsible for needlessly killing three innocent creatures.”

 

“And they were kind of cute and cuddly,” Madge says, sobering with me.

 

“Oh for fuck’s sake! They were three flea bitten, potentially rabies infested, scavengers who were dumb enough to steal and inhale a poisoned pie!” Johanna reminds us. Madge’s smile returns and she bounces on her toes once more.

 

“They did give their cute and cuddly lives to prove our innocence, though. We need time to mourn them,” she says. “But Katniss is right. They were not thirty year old abusive man babies who happen to be the former mayor of this town. So we’re not murderers!”

 

“I’m not sure which is worse,” Jo says with a groan. “Thinking you two idiots killed him or knowing that you didn’t and that there’s still a killer somewhere in this town. Someone I may have met today or yesterday. I need a drink.”

 

Madge giggles and lets go of our arms to hurry to the fridge. “I’ll get the wine! Tonight’s word is... _ dead raccoons!” _


	19. Chapter 19

I wander the house, checking windows and door locks and finally the security system. Outside, crickets chirp loudly enough to be heard indoors. The sound is somehow soothing after the insanity of the day.

 

After Madge poured the wine, we watched out the back window as Peeta dealt with the dead raccoons and then answered his phone. Ducking down to hide from him as he returned to his truck still parked in Madge’s driveway, his phone to his ear and a scowl on his face. Johanna made at least a dozen jokes about handcuffs then proceeded to spin a scenario that revolved around Peeta handcuffing me naked to the bed and questioning me. She’d just gotten to the really raunchy parts, when my phone lit up with a single message from Peeta.  _ We need to talk. Again.  _ It was enough to bring all my guilt crashing back down on me. Since I had no idea when he’d be back to have this talk, I put myself in charge of the wine and made sure to water mine down enough to stay sober through the day drinking.

 

Madge and Jo said the words  _ dead raccoons _ enough to get themselves pretty drunk, though. We held a campfire in her living room -- in the fireplace, we’re not  _ that  _ brainless -- and roasted marshmallows over flaming pictures of Brigham, but eventually, they both passed out on the living room couches, leaving me to clean up the mess. I check on them one last time and then stare at my phone screen, waiting for any word from Peeta. I told him I’d be here at the house all day after he sent his one and only message to me, but we’ve otherwise been silent today.

 

Back in the kitchen, I make myself a cup of coffee to wake myself up enough to face whatever is headed my way and flip on the side porch light so he knows which door to use. Then I sit at the table and try not to think too much while I drink. I jump when the porch boards creak and my heart thuds in time with the bootsteps, practically leaping out of my throat when he knocks. 

 

I peer through the window on the door to make sure it’s him, since now I know for sure there is a killer on the loose and not in the house. When I open the door, he leans inside, looking me straight in the eyes with an almost bored expression on his face.

 

“Know where I can get a decent slice of pie?” he asks and I laugh nervously and stupidly before letting him inside. I lock the door behind him and quietly invite him to sit down at the table with me. Ask him if he wants a coffee too. “Will I drop dead of cancer from the mugs?”

 

Damn, he’s not going to make this easy on me. I pour the coffee anyways and sit in my chair as he pulls one out with his foot and settles heavily into, taking a deep sip before speaking again.

 

“So where are your partners in crime?” he asks and heat rushes to my cheeks.

 

“Too much wine. They’re asleep in the living room.” He nods and takes another sip of coffee, levelling me with his best  _ I am the law and you are in trouble  _ look. I squirm in my seat the way I would’ve whenever I got sent to the principal’s office in school.

 

“Start talking,” he says quietly and while I’d usually lose my temper at being ordered about like that, I’m not sure I have the right to a temper at the moment.

 

“Do you have your taser on you?” I ask pathetically instead. He eyes me for a moment and then sighs, standing back up and turning around for my inspection, flipping the pockets of his jeans out to show that he is, in fact, unarmed. When he sits back down, his expression has softened, bordering on hurt again.

 

“Katniss, will you please tell me what’s been going on with you?”

 

I take a deep breath and force myself to look him in the eyes before spilling the whole tale to him, from the Bailey’s and the whiskey to the poisoned pie to our pathetic attempts to find another probable suspect and finally to the raccoons. I even tell him about burning our poison pie mess. Sometime while I speak, Peeta drops his gaze to stare into his mug. By the time I’m done, he’s gripping it hard enough that I’m worried he may shatter the thing in his hands and burn himself with the scalding liquid, and his jaw is spasming and his foot bounces beneath the table.

 

“Look, I know I should’ve told you sooner but it was just a stupid, alcohol influenced joke to make Madge feel better, and I wanted to tell you because I don’t like keeping--”

 

“Stop talking,” he says and I glare at him. 

 

Just because he’s the sheriff doesn’t mean he gets to be an ass about this, although a part of me is glad he cut me off before I said something stupid like  _ keeping secrets from the man I’m falling for _ . And why the hell did I almost say that? Why am I even  _ thinking _ it?! But then his entire body goes still and he squeezes his eyes shut before his shoulders start to shake. A laugh bursts forth from his lips and I shift nervously in my seat. After he’s laughed for a minute or two, I can’t take it any more.

 

“It’s not  _ that  _ funny,” I gripe.

 

“You’re right. It’s not funny at all,” he says and pins me in my chair with the intense look he levels at me. “But if I don’t laugh, I might do something I’ll regret like haul you across my lap and spank you. After everything I told you that day on the roof, you still kept all of this from me?”

 

“I was trying to protect Madge,” I whisper. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?”

 

“Yes, but not like this,” he says vehemently. “I’ve been working my ass off trying to solve this murder, and at the same time, working my ass off to get closer to you, and the whole time, you’re keeping secrets like this from me and covering up a possible murder? Never mind that it’s so far fetched, I’m still having a hard time accepting that you actually believed you might’ve killed him. Not to mention that cockamamey story about carcinogenic pie plates you spit out this afternoon. Do you really think I’m dumb enough to believe something like that?”

 

“Weird shit always happens around Madge and I in this town,” I protest and then concede that he has a point. “Okay, maybe it was a little out there, even for us, but you’ve barely told us anything about what’s going on with the investigation. Madge and I get more updates from Pamela Cartwright via my mother! Then you kept making all those references to pie and making us freak out, thinking you knew we were guilty.”

 

Peeta sighs and shakes his head, staring at the table for a moment before speaking again. “I only made those references to pie because the two of you kept acting insane every time I did and I thought you maybe knew something about the murder. I was trying to get you to talk to me.”

 

“Maybe not the best tactic,” I mutter.

 

“You got a better one? I opened up to you the night after we found his body, again the night after that, on the roof, and again yesterday at the bakery. I trusted you and yet you still kept secrets from me.” Alright, that’s another good point. When I have no answer for him and just spin my mug in my hands, he speaks quietly once more. 

 

“Brigham wasn’t poisoned, Katniss.”

 

“Obviously,” I state with a roll of my eyes.

 

“No, see, I knew that he wasn't poisoned as soon as I saw him in the yard,” Peeta explains. “There was too much blood around his head.”

 

My mouth drops open a little as he talks, so calm and steady, although I can see in his eyes he doesn't like talking about this.

 

“Someone smashed a heavy object or something into the back of his skull, knocking him unconscious, and he bled out onto the yard,” Peeta says and now I understand exactly why he had a rough day after the murder and why he's been trying so hard to solve it when he didn't really want to. Because Peeta's the one who threatened to smash Brigham’s skull, and it turns out that that's exactly how he died.

 

“Peeta, you don't have to tell me this. I know you can't tell me everything, it's just I've been so scared and frustrated and everyone in town thinks that I did it.”

 

“Including yourself,” he whispers and I nod, swallowing heavily. “Did you honestly think  _ you  _ killed him all this time?”

 

“Well, except for the twelve hours or so when I thought  _ you  _ killed him,” I say, and his lips twitch in what I hope is a smile. “And I’ll have you know that I felt like shit keeping this from you after that day on the roof. And especially after last night, I tried to tell you this morning, but we kept getting interrupted and then the mystery of the missing pie was resolved.”

 

“You should feel like shit for keeping this from me,” he says and then we’re quiet for a moment before he sighs and stands from the table, rinsing his empty mug and setting it in the sink. “We could've avoided all of this if we'd just talked about it. Trusted each other.”

 

He turns around to lean back against the counter and crosses his arms over his chest and his jaw is doing that weird twitching thing again but at least he isn’t leaving or spanking me, although that second one might not be so horrible.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you more about what was going on. I should’ve kept you and Madge more up to date. I had no idea you two were carrying something like this and honestly, we’re still figuring out what we can and can’t do in the course of an investigation like this. I’ve just been trying to avoid getting slapped with a lawsuit or fucking this up.”

 

“I know,” I say and leave my coffee behind to stand in front of him. “I promise that I’ve told you everything now.”

 

Peeta nods and looks down at his toes while I bite my lip and try to find a way to bridge the gap between us. 

 

“Last night…” he says and pauses to work his jaw. “Were you trying to distract me with sex? Making sure I was too occupied to figure it out?”

 

“No,” I insist and place my hands on his cheeks to get him to look at me again. “That’s not what I was doing at all.”

 

The rest of the words get all jumbled in my throat and he’s looking unconvinced, so I do the only thing I can think of and kiss him. He goes rigid and he shudders for a second. Then he uncrosses his arms and cradles my face in his palms, thumbs rubbing over my cheeks while we kiss with just lips. And even though it’s been less than a day, the kisses only make my need for him greater.

 

He gently pulls back and drops his hands to stare into my eyes for a moment and just as I start to worry that I’ve messed this up beyond repair, he spins us so that I’m backed against the counter. His hands fist my shirt at my sides and his mouth crashes into mine, my squawk of surprise muffled against his tongue. Hands roam frantically and yank on fabric and before I can think to stop us or remind him that Madge and Jo are just down the hall, my shirt and bra get thrown to the floor. I spear my fingers in his hair and surrender myself to the sensations as arousal pools in my panties at a rapid pace.

 

“Put your hands behind you,” he orders, his voice gruff and sensual, and I obey its call, bracing my hands on the countertop.

 

It’s like Peeta crammed years worth of classes on pleasuring me into last night and graduated valedictorian. Hand the man a doctorate because when he unzips my jeans and pushes them down to just below my hips, I’m too focused on the way he makes me feel desirable and cherished to care that someone could walk in on us at any moment.

 

Or maybe, I think as he places one hand over mine on the counter and stares into my eyes, the possibility of being caught is part of the thrill. Then I have no room for thinking when he slides his hand inside my panties and I mewl desperately. He remembers where to touch and how fast, how hard and deep to go. But even more than that, he doesn’t break eye contact for a second, holding me mesmerized in his gaze as my nails scrape fruitlessly on the countertop. And just when I think he couldn’t do a thing to make this hotter, he starts talking.

 

I gape at him and every muscle and nerve ending in my body responds to the filthy words pouring off his tongue like honeyed nectar. Lips that pink should not know such words, but they do and it is poetry is his deep, impassioned voice. Before I know it, I am gripping his biceps and biting down on his shoulder so my scream comes out as a squeak as I pulsate around his fingers.

 

When I finally stop coming, Peeta pulls his fingers from me, nudging me off of his shoulder and looking me dead on while he sucks his fingers clean of me. I whimper and my knees start to buckle, but Peeta scoops me up in his arms and carries me upstairs. 

 

He lays me on the bed and kisses my legs as he removes my jeans and panties. Then he shucks his own clothes, rolls on a condom, and settles between my thighs to kiss my neck and chest while he enters me. I’m expecting hard and fast, but instead he moves at an agonizing pace, stroking me with his cock rather than thrusting. And this too is something I’ve never known before, a gentle climb and entwining of limbs. I feel him in every part of me, and want to touch just as much. His back and arms and hair become sanctuaries for my hands.

  
Eventually, his gaze on me wavers and he groans, slipping a hand between us and drawing circles on my clit until I crest and sigh his name to the night. He curls his hand over my head to brush my hair from my face and drills into me then. I lift my hips to meet his, wanting nothing more than to hear and watch him find his own release. When it hits, I barely have the presence of mind to grip his hair and bring his mouth down to mine so I can swallow his shout of ecstasy. It reaches down to my toes as he slams home and rocks his hips until he’s finished. I twirl his hair around my fingers and caress his spine, content to lay here in his arms and forget the rest of the world.


	20. Chapter 20

“Hey,” Peeta murmurs, nuzzling my neck until I wake up. I struggle to sit up, but manage it. I’m sore between my legs -- his doing -- and every muscle aches. Also his fault. I’m deliciously drained from two nights in bed with Peeta, who seems to be the mystical unicorn of a man who’s stamina can actually match his appetite. But he kisses me on my scowl and lifts a fragrant mug under my nose.

 

“You’re forgiven,” I groan and accept the mug. He chuckles and kisses the crown of my head as I inhale the robust aroma.

 

“I didn’t forget your law about waking you up. It took me three tries and an assist from the internet to figure out how to work your French press, so don’t expect too much from that just yet,” he says, nodding towards the mug in my hands. “But I’ll learn.”

 

“You used Theo?” I ask, a little surprised that he didn’t just use Madge’s Mr. Coffee.

 

“The French press has a name?” he asks and I grip the mug tighter, waiting for the ridicule, but it doesn’t come. “Well, Theo and I will just have to get better acquainted, build some trust, and then before you know it, I’ll know exactly how to give you your daily fix.”

 

How in the hell am I supposed to keep from falling for someone who says things like that and _means_ them? Someone who wants to take the time and make the effort to understand every part of me and love me as I am, I wonder as he kisses me the rest of the way awake.

 

“I have to go into work, but I didn’t want to leave before seeing your beautiful eyes and hearing your voice at least once. I’ll see you this afternoon,” he says and drops a last kiss on my nose, and fuck me if it doesn’t hurt when he leaves.

 

I am in so deep and don’t know what to do about it.

 

Yes I do. I have to do what he asked me to do a week ago if I want to keep my promises.

 

I enjoy my coffee and then rush through getting showered and dressed, then I stall by checking on Madge and Johanna and whipping up a breakfast for them that will be easy to heat up when they finally drag themselves out of their hangovers. Cut me some slack, I have a bad history with answering questions from authority figures, and that was for small things, not murder. Plus, I’m still trying to figure out how to dance around answering questions without exposing Brigham’s abuse of Madge. By mid-morning, I’ve stalled as long as I can and finally force myself to drive to the sheriff’s office.

 

My presence causes a commotion almost immediately. Pamela Cartwright sputters and shouts for back ups. Thom does an about-face and leaps back into the room he just came out of. I lift my chin and approach Pamela’s desk.

 

“Ms. Cartwright,” I greet her cooly and her eyes narrow at me.

 

“Katniss,” she says, her hand inching towards her phone.

 

“I’m here to make a statement. Is Sheriff Mellark in?” I ask and she smiles happily.

 

“I’m afraid he’s busy, but I’m sure one of our other deputies would be happy to help,” she sneers and waves someone over from behind me as my stomach sinks. I was hoping that I’d be answering to Peeta. Then I wouldn’t have to watch what I say as much.

 

Behind me, there’s a loud sigh and I turn to face the deputy. Then I can’t help the smile that breaks out on my face.

 

“Harrison?” I ask and he laughs with a nod.

 

“Morning, Katniss,” he greets and tucks his thumbs in his belt. Harrison Donner is Maysilee’s second son and the proud owner of one hell of a pitching arm. He honed his skills in the backyards of Twelve Willows, hurling water balloons at Madge and myself when we were kids. As much of a pain in the ass as he could sometimes be, he’s still like family, as much my cousin in spirit as he is Madge’s by blood. “It’s been awhile.”

 

“It has,” I say nervously, tucking my hair back behind my ear and blurting out my first thought. “Why didn’t Peeta just send you that night instead of Thom?”

 

Harrison would’ve known exactly how to handle a drunk and belligerent Katniss without a taser. He shrugs and pulls a wallet from his back pocket. “Kayla and the baby were both sick that whole week. They’re feeling better now, though.”

 

He shows me a picture of his family, beaming proudly and something flutters inside me at the image of domestic happiness. “She’d love to see you if you get a chance to stop by.”

 

“I’ll be sure to do that,” I tell him and he waves down the hall.

 

“I’m guessing you’re hear to make statement,” he says as I follow his directions and head into a room with a table and two chairs on either side. There’s one window leading outside, no bars on it, and not even one of those two-way mirrors that mean someone in the next room could be watching. I relax a little as Harrison shuts the door, insisting to Pamela Cartwright that he can handle this without her and he’ll give her the recording to transcribe later.

 

The first few minutes go smoothly, Harrison’s presence going a long way to help me relax. But when he starts asking specific questions about if I’d seen Brigham at all the night of the murder and what we talked about, I stumble and start playing with my braid. His brow furrows and he stops the recording.

 

“Mom told us about what Brigham was doing to Madge. I’ll handle transcribing this later and keep it between Sheriff Mellark and myself if that helps. Your statements are confidential unless it’s needed for a trial,” he reassures me.

 

I nod, and from there, it’s much easier. He smothers a laugh with his hand when I tell him about the poison pie and burning the evidence, but otherwise, the questions aren’t too rough, once I know that I am not the only one keeping Madge’s secrets anymore.

 

“Thank you, Miss Everdeen,” Harrison says as he stops the recorder and flips his notebook closed. “If you think of anything you need to add to your statement, just let us know, alright?”

 

“Of course, Deputy Donner,” I say and stand to shake his hand, but he surprises me by hugging me, clapping a hand on my back.

 

“Don’t forget to come by the house to see Kayla and the baby,” he reminds me as he holds the door open for me.

 

“Harrison, your wife is on the phone,” Pamela Cartwright announces as soon as we emerge. He glances towards the chairs set up near the front door as a sort of waiting area.

 

“I’ll be right with you, Eddy,” Harrison says and excuses himself to go talk to his wife.

 

“Hey, Miss Everdeen,” Eddy says glumly as I head towards the door. I’d thought about seeing Peeta now that I’m done with the interrogation, but I don’t want to distract him. Plus, I’m now thinking of him in his uniform and wondering if he’d like to spend his lunch break handcuffing me to his desk…

 

I shake myself free of the fantasy and sit next to Eddy. “What’s got you all blue?”

 

“Oh nothing,” he says and looks up and down the hallway. Pamela Cartwright is on the phone and we’re otherwise alone. When he looks back at me, he seems so upset, I’m not sure how to help him. “I never thought you were such a bad babysitter, ya know.”

 

“What?” I ask, confused as to why he’s brought it up.

 

“You were always pretty cool, letting me have friends over and watching movies. I mean, you made sure I got my homework and stuff done, but then you also made sure we had fun afterwards.”

 

“Well, thank you Eddy,” I say softly and he sighs like he’s got the weight of the world on his shoulders.

 

“I just wanted to let you know before they drag me off to jail is all. My mother will probably try to blame you, but it’s not your fault.”

 

“Okay, Eddy, what’s going on?” I ask him as gently as I can. He checks the hall once more and drops his voice to a whisper.

 

“You can’t tell anyone this, especially not my mother, but the night Mayor Tate was murdered...I think I _heard_ it happen.”

 

“You can’t just say something like that and not explain it to me,” I say when he falls silent, leaving me hanging and trying to keep the edge out of my voice. He plucks at the hem of his shirt but continues.

 

“Well, Beau Thompson and I went down to the old slag heap to meet up with some friends. We, uh, drank some beer and then went home around one thirty, I guess. When I got home, I was pretty drunk, and must’ve made some noise or something, because Sheriff Mellark showed up and talked to me for a few minutes. Something about not drinking under age and warnings and such, but while we were talking, there was shouting down the street. A male and a female voice. I thought Beau’s mother must’ve caught him sneaking back in. The sheriff helped me get inside my house and said he’d go check on Beau.

 

“I didn’t think anything of it when Mayor Tate showed up dead the next day, but when I was talking to Beau about it last night, he said he didn’t go straight home. He went out to the woods with Chrissy Maple and they, well that’s not important. He said his Mama did catch him and yelled at him, but that wasn’t until 3:10 in the morning. She’s got that thing where the numbers get all mixed up in her head, you know?”

 

“Dyslexia?” I ask and he nods.

 

“So when they asked her about it, she told the sheriff it was one thirty when she yelled at Beau. She didn’t mean to lie,” he insists. “She’s not gonna go to jail, too, is she?”

 

“No,” I reassure him. “Sheriff Mellark is a pretty reasonable man. I’m sure he’ll understand that she didn’t mean to lie. But what’s this got to do with you getting in trouble?”

 

Once more, Eddy checks the hallway for listeners, which is absurd if he’s here to tell all of this to a deputy, which I assume he is.

 

“Because if it wasn’t Beau and his mother I heard, then it was probably Mayor Tate and whoever killed him,” Eddy whispers. Goosebumps break out on my flesh as the implications hit me. I push past the eerie sensations and focus on comforting Eddy.

 

“It’s not illegal to _hear_ a murder take place, Eddy.”

 

“No, but if Sheriff Mellark hadn’t been talking to me, he might’ve been able to stop it. So it’s my fault Mayor Tate got killed. And isn’t that accessory or something?”

 

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” I say as gently as possible. The poor kid shouldn’t be carrying around that level of guilt, although he does have a point about Peeta being able to stop the murder if he’d still been outside Madge’s house instead of down the street talking to Eddy. “Just tell the deputy the truth and I’m sure it’ll be fine. They’re looking for a killer, not a young man who just got a little too tipsy.”

 

He considers this for awhile and finally nods. Harrison walks out then and Eddy waves at me before he disappears into the interview room. I heave myself out of the chair and ignore Pamela Cartwright loudly dialing the phone and gushing to her daughter about how nice it’d be if she could come by the station for lunch and to bring some of the chicken cacciatore that she’s famous for and Sheriff Mellark is so fond of. I’m preoccupied thinking about who Brigham could’ve gotten into a shouting match with in the backyard at one thirty in the morning.


	21. Chapter 21

My friends are meddling little shits. 

 

After I got back from the sheriff’s office, they asked all kinds of probing questions about what I did while I was there. They were both disappointed when I told them that Peeta neither handcuffed me nor had his way with me on top of his desk.

 

“Then what good is it dating a sheriff?” Johanna had asked in exasperation. Hearing words put to it scared the snot out of me and I quickly hid myself in my room shortly after, claiming that I needed to call and check on Daily Fix. Which was true. I’ve been neglecting my business.

 

Once that was done, I sucked it up and called my investors to rearrange our next meeting, since I have no idea how much longer I'll be here in Twelve Willows. I guess since I'm technically not a suspect anymore, I could leave any time, but I don’t want to leave Madge when all of this is still unresolved. 

 

That thought led to thinking about how I'm supposed to leave here after what's happened with Peeta. I'm no good with labels and this one eludes me worse than most. Whatever it is between us, I can't stay here indefinitely. We’re not dating. We can’t be dating. My life is in Philadelphia. Daily Fix is in Philadelphia. My friends, other than Madge, are in Philadelphia. Which makes Peeta and I temporary.

 

Madge and Johanna didn't get the message when we talked about it after we held another impromptu singing and piano playing party, though, because even though there’s still enough food in the kitchen to feed a small army, they rush out the door in the early evening, claiming to have a dinner date with Maysilee, her boys, and all associated spouses and kids. At first, I’m a little peeved that they didn’t bother to invite me, until Madge hugs me to reassure me.

 

“I feel bad kicking you out of your house, though,” I mutter to her.

 

“Don’t. This place makes me feel so suffocated sometimes. The only really good memories I can think of that I made here were made in the past week. So have a good time. Defile every surface with amazing sex because I certainly haven’t,” she says. “Brigham’s the only person I’ve ever been with and it wasn’t that great.”

 

“You need to get out more, Angel. We’ll find you a decent partner one of these days. But for now, let’s go meet this family of yours.” She leads Madge out to the porch then spins around to poke her head back in and torment me one last time for the night. “You’re still good on supplies, right? I can’t imagine he’s  _ that _ much of a stud that you would’ve already gone through a 30 pack in two days, but--”

 

“Get out of here,” I say and shove her face out the door as I realize they’re leaving because they know Peeta will be here soon to see me, and like any supportive girlfriends would do, are removing themselves from the picture to give us privacy just in case we can’t make it all the way up the stairs this time...or you know, out of the kitchen. And while I’ve already decided that I can’t let myself get attached to him, I do enjoy being with him and heaven have mercy, the sex is just so damn good.

 

“Have a good night!” Madge calls out happily as they climb into Jo’s car and I shut the front door.

 

I've been mulling over what Eddy told me today, going so far as to pull out our list of murder suspects to review it for anything I might've missed. I just don't know, and I'm wondering if the actual murderer isn't even on my list when I hear Peeta's truck pull into the driveway, and I decide that Madge is still right. I should enjoy my time with Peeta while it lasts. No one else has set my body aflame the way he does, and I'm not sure that anyone else after him will have a similar effect.

 

“Hey,” I greet him, opening the front door before he has a chance to knock. He's already out of his uniform, still handsome in jeans and a green and white plaid shirt.

 

“How is it that you're more radiant every time I see you?” he asks, pulling me into his arms and planting a kiss on my lips before the door even shuts behind him. “Hey. How was your day?”

 

“You mean you haven't heard?” I ask and Peeta smiles.

 

“Thank you, Katniss. I know it wasn't easy or enjoyable,” he murmurs and I shrug, still cocooned in his embrace. 

 

“It wasn't so bad. I got a chance to catch up with Harrison. How about you?”

 

“My day was shitty,” he says, but he's still smiling and now nuzzling my neck. “On top of the usual complaints and daily minutiae, we had one person come in to change their statement, and a few new ones that aren't helpful at all. You'd think they'd know by now that gossip isn't evidence. Not to mention we had a guy from county down last week to make a mold of the wound. He was supposed to get it back to us today so we'd have some idea of what the murder weapon is, but when I called him, he said he had some delays. He never got back to me on when I should expect it.”

 

“Oh?” I ask, distracted by the circles Peeta’s drawing on my sides with his thumbs.

 

“Mhm, and that's the last I'm talking about it tonight. It's the start of what's probably going to be another stressful week, and all I want to do right now is spend every possible minute with you. Starting with getting you naked, burying myself inside you, and forgetting about all of that while making you come all over me,” he whispers before biting down on my earlobe then kissing it.

 

“I thought you didn't want me to distract you with sex,” I gasp as his hands slide up beneath my shirt.

 

“Distract me all you want as long as you're not doing it to hide something from me.” 

 

“In that case,” I say, and suck gently on the pulse point on his neck. He groans and picks me up, tossing me over his shoulder as I laugh and cling to the back of his shirt, protesting unconvincingly as he carries me up the stairs, setting me on my feet just inside the bedroom door. I push him back onto the bed, slowly peel off my clothes while he watches with eager eyes and open adoration.

 

When I'm bare before him, I crawl over him and kiss him on the mouth. His hands skim over my body while I unbutton his shirt and separate the flaps to bare his chest to me. I run my palms over the hard planes of his muscles for a few minutes until I feel his erection beneath me, then I grind down into him to get him to moan around my tongue.

 

I must admit that his idea was a pretty good one, because as we kiss and I unzip his jeans, I forget about unknown murderers and weapons. I forget about my life back in Philly when I grip his hardness and pull it free of his clothes. I forget that I never wanted to come back to this town in the first place as he shoves his jeans down his thighs just enough for me to sink down onto him. And as he touches my breasts and murmurs to me while I rock my hips over him, I forget what day and what month it is.

 

It isn't long before he's gripping my hips and driving me over him, his blue eyes riveted to the point where we’re joined. And I'm just lucky that I can at least remember my name as he moans it, attached to a few heated pleas. My nails dig into his chest and I lose myself to blissful oblivion. Peeta joins me with a shout before yanking me down to him so he can kiss me.

 

************************

 

Neither of us wants to stay in the house all night, so we eat a hasty dinner and pack up a few blankets into the bed of his truck before driving clear out of town. I give directions to Peeta as he drives, knowing the perfect place to watch the sunset.

 

It’s probably a bad idea to take a sheriff to the scene of a crime on a first date, although I’m still not convinced that’s what this is. But as we work our way through the woods, I can’t regret it. Peeta’s footsteps and my laughter are enough to scare off any animals that might be about, so we have the trees to ourselves. When we break free of the trees, Peeta looks up and down the worn fence in front of us, shaking his head as he gets his bearings and figures out exactly where we are.

 

I clamber over the fence and look back at him. “Nervous, sheriff?”

 

“You’re lucky Haymitch was drunk that night and couldn’t shoot straight,” he says.

 

“He’s drunk every night,” I say and Peeta laughs, placing his hands on the top rail of the fence before vaulting over to join me.

 

“I feel like I should arrest myself,” he jokes, following me as we race through the pasture and back into the woods on the other side.

 

“Haven’t you heard? I’m a bad influence,” I say and spin around a tree to give him a devilish grin. Unphased, he steps closer, the fading sunlight filtered through the foliage casting golden and green tinted light across his face, peppered with shadows. He leans against the tree and for a second, I think he’s going to kiss me.

 

“I didn’t realize being corrupted could be this much fun. Should’ve tried it sooner...” he murmurs. I laugh nervously and shove myself off the tree. I don’t know what to do when he says things like that. I keep walking so I don’t have to face it yet. It’s only a short walk and one more fence to climb over and we reach our destination.

 

“Wow,” Peeta breathes as he steps out onto the rock overlooking the valley. “I didn’t even know this was here.”

 

“Not a lot of people do,” I admit and spread out one of the blankets before I fold my legs to sit on the smooth, sun-warmed stone.

 

“Must have something to do with the shotgun waving guardian,” he suggests and I laugh as he sits next to me, leaning back on his palms and closing his eyes as the breeze plays with his hair. 

 

“Madge and I used to come out here all the time,” I tell him as the sun sinks lower. “When things got to be too much with her parents, too quiet in their house. Or after my Dad would leave again and the thought of sitting still made me want to crawl out of my skin.”

 

Peeta shifts, bending up one knee to drape an arm over it and lean towards me. I bite my tongue and look away from him. I’ve never told anyone these things. Madge knew them, but it’s not something we ever really talked about directly. Maybe that’s why she felt she couldn’t tell me about Brigham’s abuse of her for so long. We so rarely talked about the things that hurt us growing up, just dealt with them as best we could and distracted ourselves with adventures.

 

“Is that what you were doing the night of the streaking?” Peeta asks quietly. “Escaping?”

 

“Not quite,” I tell him. “We were dancing.”

 

“Dancing?” he asks, his voice skeptical.

 

“Dancing to greet the first full moon of spring,” I say, opening my arms wide and tilting my head back to bathe in the last rays of sunshine.

 

“Dancing naked?” he asks and there’s a hint of intrigue in his voice. Because he’s grinning at me when I finally open my eyes to look at him.

 

“Yes,” I say with a lofty tone, because it should be obvious to anyone with half a brain that the best way to greet the moon is in your bare skin. “And we may have indulged in a few of Maysilee’s wine coolers that night.”

 

Peeta laughs at this, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Katniss. I’m just trying to figure out how you went from dancing naked in the light of the full moon to streaking across Haymitch’s pasture.”

 

“There was an anthill beneath that tree over there, where we dropped our clothes,” I explain, waving at the oak a few yards behind us.

 

“You’re joking,” he says.

 

“Oh no, I’m not. Really it was just lucky that Herbert Abernathy and his wife had done laundry and hung it out to dry that afternoon, otherwise we probably would’ve gotten caught sneaking back into in my mother’s kitchen, bare assed naked,” I say and tuck my hair behind my ear because it feels fun to share these stories with Peeta, to let him see that the trouble of mythic proportions that Madge and I landed in was almost always caused by impulsiveness then blown out proportion by circumstance. It doesn’t hurt that, other than the poison pie, Peeta’s never seemed annoyed with the trouble we got into. Just amused and maybe even a little enthralled. “The worst part wasn’t even getting shot at, but the sacrifice of my favorite blouse to the ants.”

 

Peeta gives up and lets loose with a burst of laughter and I might even join him. We fall silent then to watch as the sun dips below the edge of the world, the sky dancing to life with vibrant, pulsing colors. Radiantly beautiful and enchanting. I’d forgotten how much I loved coming up here to watch the sunset. It tugs at the strings of my heart, reminding me of all the things about Twelve Willows I never thought I’d miss but apparently have.

 

The trees, the soft mountain breezes, the radiant sunsets over the hills, so beautiful they make you think your heart might burst. Even several of the people. Like Madge and Peeta. I never liked the gossip or the odd looks I’d get, but despite all of that, some of my best memories were made right here in these hills. In my woods.

 

Warmth encompasses my hand and I glance down at Peeta’s blanketing mine. I lean into him and rest my head on his shoulder, biting back a smile as the sun continues its descent. We talk quietly as we watch the last moments of the sunset, scattered fragments of conversation rather than a flowing stream. As the sky turns to gray, violet, and deep blues, Peeta’s fingers caress my jaw and tilt my head so that we’re facing one another.

 

“Have you ever wanted to freeze one moment and live in it forever?”

 

Before I can answer, his lips caress over mine. Soft at first and then growing in strength. It's such a loving, intimate kiss that my heart flutters madly in my chest and I never want him to stop. For some reason, a series of images flashes through my mind of us just like this, through seasons and years. Then it shifts to us working side by side in his bakery, with me serving up coffee, and each picture only carries more tender sweetness with it until I have to pull back and blink away tears. 

 

Someone like him could so easily root himself beneath my skin, deep enough that it would be impossible for me to weed him out, deep enough to make me forget why I left this town in the first place and what I have waiting for me. I search for something to stop myself turning into a sentimental mess. I remind myself that this is only temporary and force myself to live in the moment. Not think about the future.


	22. Chapter 22

I wake feeling deliciously happy and warm. Stretching like a cat in my covers before glancing beside me. Peeta’s side of the bed is empty, sheets rumpled and cool. Before I can worry about that, laughter and the scent of fresh coffee waft through the open door and I leap from the cozy bed.

 

It takes me a moment to locate enough of my clothes to be decent. Once the night bugs emerged last night, Peeta and I returned to his truck only to wind up making out on the front seat until the windows were fogged and we were both breathless and out of our minds with want. He drove us back to the house while I teased him about breaking at least a half dozen traffic laws. We didn’t even make it to the bed in my room, instead christening the floor with our perspiration. It was frantic and fast, and so fucking hot that I’m getting aroused just thinking about it now.

 

Heading downstairs, I stop in the kitchen doorway to watch as Johanna gives Peeta a lesson on the shelf life of coffee beans, how to select the best roasts, when to grind the beans, and how to use Theo to produce coffee just the way I like it. He’s already in his uniform, must have brought it with him last night, and _damn_ , he looks scrumptious in it. At one point, he looks up and catches me staring at him. And the smile he gives me makes everything warm and tingly.

 

Just as Johanna spots me, there’s a knock on the door. Madge is humming and prances past me with a smile, down the hall to go answer.

 

“Oh, hi Morgan!” she greets.

 

“Morning, Madge. I’ve got quite the delivery here for you,” Morgan replies. I can’t say that I’m shocked. Morgan Donner is yet another one of Madge’s cousins and is also the local florist. There had to be someone in this town who’d send flowers instead of food to help Madge in her grief.

 

“Bring them on inside,” she says and steps back to let him in the house. We all gape as he staggers in with a massive arrangement of red roses before setting it on the hall table.

 

“Be right back with the rest of them,” he says and trots out to his van.

 

“The rest of them?” I ask.

 

“Have you got a secret admirer, Angel?” Johanna asks and sniffs the flowers.

 

“I thought you hated roses,” Peeta teases and Madge blushes pink as her cousin traipses back in with another vase. When he mutters that he’s not done, Peeta offers to help. By the time they’ve finished and Morgan has left, the hall is filled with the sumptuous beauties, their aroma overly sweet and cloying.

 

“Well, let’s find out who wants in your panties,” Johanna says and plucks the card from one of the bouquets.

 

“I can’t imagine who’d send these,” Madge says and Johanna snorts.

 

“That’s because they’re not for you,” she cackles and then grins at me as my stomach sinks. She clears her throat and adopts a deeper, snotty voice, making everything so much worse as she reads the card aloud. “My darling Katniss, I anxiously await the day we will be reunited. Our plans and my thoughts of you will keep me warm until you return. In the meantime, I’m sending beauty to you since my life has none without you in it. All my heart, David.”

 

“Who?” Peeta asks.

 

“Wow, Brainless. Your boyfriend sure knows how to make a grand gesture,” she says and I want to punch her as I watch Peeta’s face flicker with pain.

 

“We should go check on breakfast, come on Jo,” Madge says and grabs her arm before dragging her back to the kitchen. My limbs are frozen, shocked into immobility at the extravagant gift from David Marvel.

 

“I’ll get going,” Peeta says quietly. “Leave you ladies to enjoy your flowers and your meal.”

 

“Wait, Peeta!” I chase after him, stopping him as my limbs finally wake the fuck up, blocking the door with my body. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”

 

“I’m such an idiot. All this time, I’ve been falling in love with you, and you’ve had someone waiting for you back in Philadelphia. You didn’t tell me,” he says. his voice hollow rather than angry.

 

“You didn’t ask,” I say, completely ignoring the _falling in love_ part and going straight for accusations because I thought he knew me better than to believe I’d be so conniving and disloyal. But it’s the wrong thing to say because his eyebrows knit together in a glare.

 

“So what the fuck was this to you? A few days of fun before you go back to your real life?”

 

“I don’t know,” I admit, hurt that he’s being so unfair. He had to know that I didn’t plan on staying here in Twelve Willows, and it’s not like he’s asked me to do so. Never mind that I still don’t know what I’d say if he did ask me.

 

He looks away from me and clenches his jaw, and maybe I don’t know what _this_ is, but I do know what David Marvel is to me, and what he’s not. I grab Peeta’s chin and force him to look at me again. “I went on one date with David Marvel. _One date._ I never agreed to a second because I wasn’t interested in being with him. I only agreed to the first to get him to leave me alone. I thought he’d give up after it was a disaster. Johanna calls him my boyfriend as a fucking joke because it couldn't be further from the truth. I’ve had zero contact with him since I got here and have no idea why he’s sending me flowers except that he’s a thick skulled moron who can’t take a hint. But he is _not_ and never will be my boyfriend.”

 

“There’s at least ten dozen roses here, Katniss. I may not be the best at math, but even I know that costs a fortune. He wouldn’t do that for someone who doesn’t mean a lot to him. How am I supposed to compete with that kind of life?”

 

“I hate roses. They’re pretentious,” I tell him and my heart soars at the flash of hope in his eyes and the faint smile he tries to suppress and can’t quite manage.

 

And of course, just as I think I’ve managed to control the damage, his phone rings. I sigh and he curses as he checks the name and sheepishly shows me that it’s Thom.

 

“I have to get this,” he says and I nod, releasing his face so he can talk to his deputy.

 

“Hey, Thom, what’s up?” he asks. “It finally came in? Great.”

 

He pauses and listens for a moment and then his face scrunches in thought or confusion as he turns away from me to pace. Madge and Johanna poke their heads out into the hallway and I motion for them to keep quiet. This must mean that the mold of the murder weapon has returned.

 

“Something flat and smooth, in the shape of a triangle? And ridges on the edges?”

 

Peeta’s boots scuff on the floor as he stops in front of the hall table and stares at the roses. But I start to panic as I flash back to what used to be on that table. Before we burned the pictures of Brigham. Back on my first day in town, and as Peeta slowly turns to look at me, I know he’s thinking of the exact same thing. The arrow shaped award that I threatened him with on the porch when I still didn’t recognize him, just hours before Brigham would’ve been killed. The award that I haven’t seen since I left it on the kitchen table that night.

 

“You’re sure about the ridges? Almost like a carved arrowhead…”

 

It’s like something out of a nightmare as he makes noncommittal noises and Thom keeps talking, and I realize that, as far as I know, my hands were the last to touch the murder weapon, and Peeta _saw_ me with it, and I have no alibi for that night because I was drunk and passed out somewhere in this house and I can’t remember much past the poison pie baking. But to the town’s sheriff, it’s not much of a leap to conclude that I snuck out of the house and murdered Brigham while Madge was asleep inside and none the wiser. Which would mean that he thinks I’ve still been keeping more secrets, lying on top of more lies to him.

 

Peeta ends the call and slowly slides his phone back into his pocket, his eyes never leaving mine. I try not to look guilty, but that just makes it worse as I fidget with my hair and shift my weight on my feet. I can feel the uncertainty radiating off of him in waves.

 

“Alright, I admit it! I killed Brigham with the stupid award that was on that table,” Madge announces.

 

I spin to look at her as she steps fully into the hallway, her head held high. And even though her hands are shaking, she gives me a tiny smile and a wink. It occurs to me that if I don’t have an alibi...neither does she. But right now, I can’t let her throw away her chance at a real life to protect me. Not when she’s just gotten free of Brigham’s control.

 

“No you didn’t,” I hear myself saying. “I lost my shit and smashed his skull with the award. I killed him!”

 

Her eyes narrow at me and she takes another defiant step forward. “Shut up, Katniss! I killed him and buried the award in the woods where no one can find it! And that’s final! Don’t take this away from me!”

 

“Stop lying! I fought with him in the backyard, killed him, and threw the award in the lake where no one can find it!” I shout, and I really might be losing my shit because I’m starting to realize that what she just said is possible, too. It is entirely possible that my best friend snuck out of the house that night, got into a shouting match with her husband, whacked him on the head, and came back inside without me realizing what had happened.

 

“Both of you knock it off!” Johanna yells, stepping between us. “I killed the shitstain! I actually got into town earlier than everyone thought! Johanna did it in the backyard with a major award!”

 

“All of you stop talking right the fuck now!” Peeta roars, making all of us do just that and look over at him with wide eyes. He takes three steps towards me and stares down at me.

 

“I can’t do a thing to protect either of you if you don’t trust me, Katniss. Last chance to stop keeping secrets from me and acting like I won't be able to figure this out,” his whispers come out in a hiss.

 

My brain is in high gear as I think about everything that’s happened and how I’m pretty sure now that my best friend murdered her husband and is the reason for this whole mess. But I can’t tell Peeta that and throw her under the proverbial bus. I can’t hurt her like that; she’s dealt with enough and she’d never turn me in if our positions were reversed. She'd concoct an insane story to give us a way out of it. And how could Peeta possibly protect us if it turns out that she did murder Brigham? He’d have to arrest her and prosecute. Or lose his job and probably go to jail himself.

 

“At least answer this,” he whispers when he realizes that no explanation is forthcoming. “Did you or did you not just spend the last week here with me, planning on running right back to this David guy at the first chance you got?”

 

Because if I’m lying about murdering someone or covering it up, again, then he has every reason to doubt that I would lie to him about the Marvelous Moron.

 

“I’d rather live a hundred lifetimes without coffee than spend another second of this one with that jackass,” I say and Peeta relaxes a little, so of course, I keep talking and ruin it all. “I didn’t tell you about him because I haven’t thought about him once since I set foot in this town. He’s not important to my life and I didn’t think you and I were a serious thing.”

 

Peeta’s silent for a few seconds while I’m remembering his whole _falling in love with you_ confession of a few minutes ago and start to feel like someone’s choking me.

 

“You don’t think we’re serious?” he asks.

 

“I mean, _you_ weren’t exactly open about who you’ve been with in the past either, and there had to be someone, obviously lots of someone’s,” I spew out nonsense and can’t seem to stop the words, thinking of Delly and how everyone in this town seems to link them together, and how good he is in bed, and you aren’t just born with that kind of skill. It has to be practiced, and yes, he may have lived for several years in other places and been with god knows how many girls there, but it’s not like there’s a lot of partners for him to pick from here in Twelve Willows, and I really don’t want the awkward run-ins with ex-girlfriends, which are probably inevitable in a town this size. And none of this will matter when they cart my ass off to jail anyways. I seriously doubt that conjugal visits are Peeta’s thing.

 

“Obviously?” he asks, but I can’t seem to shut up, even though I know that I’m now the one being unfair.

 

“There’s all this talk about you and Delly, her mother seems convinced you’re going to propose marriage to her and--”

 

“Pamela Cartwright only sees what she wants to see, not what’s really there. Katniss, regardless of what happened or who I’ve been with in the past, I was serious when I first saw you again in that hospital room, even though you didn’t recognize me, and I was still serious when you finally did and couldn’t stop picturing me naked. The first time I kissed you. The first time I confided in you that I didn’t know what to do about this murder. I was serious every time I covered for you or defended you or did something that could’ve cost me my job. I meant every word I’ve said to you and I was serious the first time I tasted you, the first time I sunk myself so deep inside inside you that I couldn’t tell where I ended and you began. I was serious every time after that and especially just now when I said that I’m falling for you. Because I am. Hard. And I had thought that you felt the same way. So tell me this, has everything between us meant nothing to you? Was I nothing more than a cover story for you?”

 

I clamp my mouth shut and can’t think of a thing to say. I know I should say _something_ , but I don’t know what to say or what to do because _what the fuck?!_ Madge killed Brigham! And _holy shit?!_ Peeta’s in love with me? It’s too much to process in the moment. Not after only a week with him and my life waiting for me back in Philadelphia. Far too much to deal with and make a life-altering decision in a split second like this. So I stupidly stay silent because I am scared and worthless. I just stand there as my heart tears in two and Peeta’s eyes turn cold.

 

“You’re a real piece of work, aren’t you?” he mutters and barely nudges me to get me to move aside and stop blocking the door. And I let him go. I let him go, knowing that it will probably damage me beyond repair.


	23. Chapter 23

“Get up, Sleeping Beauty! The calvary will be here any minute now!”

 

“That makes no sense and is the most offensive thing you’ve ever said to me,” I groan and shove my head back under the blankets. Everything hurts and I’m not even hungover. I’m not ready to face anyone and I have no idea what the hell Johanna is talking about anyways. She might mean that Peeta’s finally sworn out a warrant for my arrest, but I doubt she’d be this excited about that since she hasn’t secured a raise yet. Really, I’m shocked that he still hasn’t dragged me or Madge or both of us down to the station in handcuffs.

 

“Don’t care, if it gets your ass in gear!” she trills and yanks the covers off of me as the bed dips and I look up through itchy, tear drained eyes at Madge. She brushes my hair back off my face and tries to smile.

 

“You really should get up. This isn’t healthy.”

 

“I get at least two days to mope. It’s only been one,” I insist. And during that day, I haven’t been able to stop crying, or raging over the fact that I’m crying over a stupid boy with stupid dimples when I have more important things to worry about, like oh I don’t know, whether or not my best friend is a murderess and could’ve prevented all this mess, which only makes me feel guilty for being upset with her on some level, and  _ that  _ only makes me picture the cold look of devastation on Peeta’s face when I basically told him with my silence that he means nothing to me. Which leads to more crying.

 

Madge didn’t help when yesterday afternoon, she tried to coax me out of my misery with a box that Peeta apparently brought with him the night we watched the sunset over the hills and left on the kitchen counter yesterday morning, before everything went to shit. A present for me that he never got the chance to give me himself. I told Madge to throw it away because I couldn’t stand to see what it was. Probably something insanely sweet that would’ve made me realize just how horribly I’ve fucked up.

 

“We’ve got company coming and they’re going to want to see you,” Madge says and I groan. “Also, we’re taking Theo back to the kitchen where he belongs.”

 

“But he loves me unconditionally and I need him,” I protest weakly as tears I thought I’d run out of threaten to start falling again.

 

“If you want him, you’re going to have to get up, get dressed, come down to the kitchen to drink your coffee, and rejoin the living,” Madge insists, and we both know we’re not talking about an inanimate French press. “Katniss, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve fought for what you want. You talk big about your life in Philly, and I know you gave everything you had to make that life a reality. At the same time, you talk about how things here would never work out, and yet here you stay.”

 

“I’m staying until this mess with Brigham is worked out and I know you’re okay. If you want me to leave, I’ll leave,” I spit out.

 

“Don’t be such an asshole,” Johanna says and flops down next to Madge, taking her hand in hers. “Find your big girl panties and fix this shit like you always do.”

 

“I’m not the asshole,” I mutter. Because they’re wrong. Nothing has changed. My life is still in Philadelphia and I left this town ten years ago to get away from all of the awful small-town gossip and the ignorance. It’s not my fault Peeta let himself get sucked back into this place. I won’t let it get me, too. But that does nothing to stop the intense pain I feel at the thought of never seeing him or hearing his laughter or feeling his touch again.

 

“I don’t want you to go,” Madge says gently, drawing my attention back to her. “I’ve loved every minute of having you here and being your friend again. But it’s okay if you feel like you have to go back to Philadelphia. I’ll be sad and I’ll miss you, but we won’t wait another ten years to call or see each other again. I just want you to be happy, Katniss. And if your happiness is there and not here, I understand that.”

 

“But the murder’s not cleared up yet,” I say. A darkness passes across Madge’s face and she stands, walking over to the window and staring out at the clouds.

 

“The first time he hit me, I was so shocked that I laughed. I didn’t laugh the next time when he cracked one of my ribs, though. Most of the time, he was careful to hit me in places where I could hide it, although he did once break my nose and I thought I was going to die. I could barely breathe with all the blood backing up in my throat.”

 

Johanna scoots closer to me as I sit up and we hold hands, riveted as Madge speaks softly to the window.

 

“It became my reality. All that mattered was surviving it. Watch what I say, be careful where I step or who I see and what I do. But it was never enough. He’d inevitably find a reason to hit me again. All of it depended on his mood or which way the wind was blowing or some other trivial thing that had crawled up his ass. And I just stayed here and took it. I couldn’t leave. I didn’t know how. I was a housewife with no job and no money of my own. I had nowhere I thought I could go and I guess a part of me thought that I deserved it. That’s the worst part of it. He made me believe that I deserved it. I couldn’t even bring myself to open up to the one person here in town who would’ve understood what I was going through and maybe could’ve helped me. Peeta would ask, and as much as I wanted to tell him, I’d freeze up and just lie to his face. Instead, I made up excuses for Brigham for six years. Excuses for why I couldn’t go to this function or that. Excuses for the scarves and heavy makeup and huge sunglasses. Excuses for why I couldn’t leave him.”

 

Johanna and I hold onto each other for dear life as we listen. We have to be cutting off the circulation in one another’s hands, but the one thing we don’t do is let go.

 

“When I checked into that hospital and they asked me for an emergency contact, I chose you, Katniss, because I needed a new kind of strength. And you’re the strongest person I know. I needed someone to remind me of who I could’ve been without Brigham. To give me hope that I could still be that girl and to give me the belief that I could take back my life. And you came for me. You did exactly what I needed you to do. You rejuvenated me and showed me that I didn’t have to take it. My god Katniss, you faced him alone on the front porch and told him to choke on his own balls!”

 

Her voice cracks with laughter and tears and so do ours. We have to laugh or we might break down in hopeless sobbing. She wipes her tears away and takes a deep breath before she goes on.

 

“So when my phone started blowing up with messages from him around midnight and you were passed out on this bed, I paced and I worried and I cowered. And then I decided I wasn’t going to cower anymore. I did the impossible. I fought back. I fought for what I wanted. There was a part of me that thought he might kill me, but even that would be a kind of freedom. Death would mean peace. So I met him in the backyard and told him that we were through. I was done with him. He laughed at me and shoved me to the ground. I don’t know if it was rage or fear or alcohol or exhaustion that drove me to do it, but when he turned his back on me, I stood up and slammed that award into his head. Twice.”

 

The silence hangs so thick in the air around us that I can almost see it, a tangible floating dust. I need to know the rest, though, to understand the past few days and the mess we've made. “I thought you were lying to cover for me, since Peeta saw me with the award in my hands that night.”

 

“No, I wasn’t. After Brigham hit the ground and didn’t move, I panicked. Covered my tracks as best I could and came back inside. Then I convinced myself that it was a nightmare, that I didn’t really kill him. I crawled into bed with you and fell asleep, thinking that I’d wake up and all of it would have been a dream. I’d still be in the hospital, battered and alone.”

 

“But the pie,” I say, confused why all the lies.

 

“I didn’t know how to tell you what I’d done, and then things got out of hand, and you were so happy around Peeta, I didn't want to ruin it for you,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry, Katniss.”

 

“I killed him and buried the award in the woods where no one can find it,” I murmur. So she really wasn’t lying to protect me. She was telling the truth.  _ Don’t take this away from me _ , she’d said. And now I understand as she faces me. 

 

“It was a stupid ass, ugly award,” Madge says with a shrug and I laugh for a second before I smother it and the small smile that stretched over Madge’s face as I laughed vanishes suddenly, too.

 

“I’m not sorry for what I did. But I am sorry for everything that happened after and how you got caught in the middle of it and how long I’ve let it go on. I never wanted any of that to happen. And you mean too much to me for me to let it keep happening.”

 

I can’t be mad at her. I just can’t. She was pushed too far. To her breaking point and well past it. No one should have to endure what she did. If I were another person, maybe I would be picking up the phone to call the police right now, but I am not another person. I am stubborn and a little wild and would throw away everything I have to protect the people I love. So I open my arms and with a quivering lip, Madge falls on top of us and the three of us hold one another together on the bed.

 

“And I thought  _ I  _ was a scary bitch. Remind me never to piss you off, Angel,” Johanna says, making us all laugh until tears stream down our faces.

 

“Okay, enough of this crying nonsense,” Johanna says as we untangle ourselves and she claps her hands together. “Now we’ve got to fix Katniss.”

 

“I’m not broken,” I complain. “I’ll be fine once I get back to Philadelphia.”

 

“Maybe so, but for now, please just get dressed and come downstairs. I have a hunch that our visitors will make you feel better,” Madge says as she stands.

 

“Not possible,” I groan, but when they leave, taking Theo with them, I don’t have much of a choice. If I want my coffee, I have to make myself presentable. So I force myself to stand.


	24. Chapter 24

By the time I get downstairs, there’s already a decent number of people in the kitchen and hanging out on the porch. Delightful aromas of fresh cooked food fill the air, and I move to turn right back around to retreat upstairs when Starla Summers stops me and pulls me into a hug.

 

“You know, I don’t believe I ever thanked you for watching Eddy for me all those years ago. If it wasn’t for you, I might not’ve gone back to work and then where would I have been when that loaf of a husband of mine ran off with that waitress from Tennessee? You were always so helpful, Katniss.”

 

I meet Madge’s eyes over Starla’s shoulder and mouth the words to her,  _ What the hell? _ But she just shrugs and returns to talking to Kayla. It only gets stranger from there. A good portion of the town shows up, and every last one of them is nice to me. Rooba Daniels hands me a lasagna and tells me how to heat it up later, then she pats me on the cheek and tells me that I’ve always been so pretty. Eustice Ripper insists that I make coffee for everyone, proclaiming loudly that it’s  _ simply divine _ . I can barely keep up with the demand as everyone tries a cup. Which leads to them wanting to see pictures of Daily Fix on my phone and asking questions about my business and my life and Philadelphia, just like Madge suggested they might. It’s basically a lot of getting to know the people I grew up with all over again.

 

Mary Jo Bristel asks about the possibility of selling my brand of coffee at the Gas N Sip and retells the story of the Great Coffee Heist, only this time, with a smile on her face and laughter in her voice. That leads to dozens of other people recycling old stories of my hijinks, but the weirdest thing about it is that this time, the stories don’t sound mean or awful, but rather like the exciting and humorous adventures of two young girls with too much spirit to be contained. By the time Glinda Marsh tells me that it’s just so good to have me back in town, I am completely lost as to what is going on. When I finally manage to disentangle myself from my mother’s embrace after she arrives and doesn’t once lecture me, I grab Madge and drag her inside to the hallway.

 

“Okay, what in the everloving fuck is going on here?” I hiss and Johanna joins us, slinging an arm around Madge’s shoulder and pulling her protectively into her side.

 

“I called a town meeting outside the courthouse this morning, a few hours before we got you out of bed. Jo and I grabbed everyone we could find and we figured it’d be enough with the speed of gossip in Twelve Willows.”

 

“What the hell did you tell them?” I manage not to screech, but only just.

 

“I told them about Brigham hitting me all these years. And I told them how you came back to help me,” she says. I want to scream in frustration because I thought we were trying to avoid her being the subject of gossip, especially now that Peeta knows what the murder weapon was, making us the two leading suspects, but she looks so calm and collected. “Katniss, you’ve done so much for me, and I needed to stop letting you take the blame and the hatred for me. You’ve done enough. You don’t have to protect me anymore, okay?”

 

Then I really am in danger of crying yet again as she wraps me in an embrace and Jo joins in. Behind us, someone comments that the crowd is getting out of hand and we should move the party to the yard where there’s more space.

 

“Probably not a good idea to party in Madge’s yard where Brigham got whacked in the head. Even if dancing on his grave does sound like a fine idea,” Eustice Ripper comments and an awkward silence follows as everyone looks around, uncertain what to say or do. Until Madge starts laughing, beautiful and clear. Other’s join in until Morgan comments that it was about time someone put Brigham out of Madge’s misery anyway. I can’t believe what sick assholes my neighbors are. But I think I just might love them for it.

 

They grab the food and I grab Theo and within minutes, someone has set up table’s in Eustice’s yard next door. Haymitch and Herbert Abernathy show up with cases of beer and what they claim is rum and we all know is moonshine. Johanna starts a bonfire with Eddy Summers’ help, and then Chrissy Maple and her garage band break out their instruments and start playing for us all. 

 

As the party continues, I keep searching the crowd for the one face I actually want to see, but it isn’t until the sun is sinking from the sky that I catch a glimpse of the squad car parked on the street and just a brief flash of blonde waves atop a uniform.

 

I hurry towards him, calling out his name before he can get in the car and leave me. I’m panting by the time I reach him.

 

“Hey,” I gasp out and mentally kick myself for not being able to say more than that.

 

“Miss Everdeen. How are you this evening?” he asks and I grip the edges of my split heart and try to hold them together at how formal and distant he sounds.

 

“A little weird,” I say, and lick my lips before I can continue. I wave towards the crowd behind me. “Madge told everyone about Brigham hitting her. Then all these people just decided to show up with food and tell me I’m pretty.”

 

“Those animals. How dare they,” he says with a half smile but it’s gone in an instant. “I heard about her announcement. How’s she doing?”

 

“Oh she’s fine. Perfect, really. She couldn’t care less about having her secrets spread around town or being the center of the gossip,” I complain. Peeta nods and looks at a point on the ground off to the side.

 

“How are you handling it?” he asks.

 

“I was a little angry at first, but I know it’s not my right. This is what she wanted. She says that I need to stop protecting her.”

 

The silence builds between us and there’s so many things I want to say to him but they stick on my tongue so all I manage is to ask him what brings him out here.

 

“Got a call that Starla Summers apparently thinks she’s a stripper when she’s six beers in. She’s in her house now, tucked in for the night, and Eddy’s embarrassed, but he’ll survive it.”

 

“Other than that, how’s your day been?” I ask and hope that he can help me find a way out of the mess that I’ve created. I don’t know how to work our way back to where we were two days ago. I’m not even sure if it’s possible.

 

“Four hundred and fifty-one,” he says as he crosses his arms and finally looks me right in the eyes.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Four hundred and fifty-one. That’s how many people came into the station or called in today after Madge’s announcement to confess to murdering Brigham Tate.” My mouth drops open as I realize that’s about a third of the town’s population. I glance back at the party and he confirms that many of them are dancing on the lawn right now, not in handcuffs. “Everyone from your mother and Maysilee Donner to Eustice with Whiskers as her witness to Eddy Summers and Chrissy Maple plus her two younger sisters to Sae Marsh, who had to be wheeled into the station in her chair, with an oxygen tank. Oh and Haymitch Abernathy, too. Even Harrison confessed to killing him. We couldn’t get all their statements done today. I’ll be listening to murder confessions for the rest of the week.”

 

“I don’t understand,” I say and shake my head. Peeta scoffs, looking down at the ground again for a moment. 

 

“You have no idea the effect you have, Katniss. And part of it’s their fault not yours, for being such buttheads for years, but it appears that once Madge told them what was happening in her marriage, they didn’t want to see either of you go to jail for his murder. Not even if it turned out that you actually killed him. In a way, they were inspired by you, and confessed to take the suspicion off of you.”

 

Like Peeta did when I accidentally set fire to the chemistry lab in high school. Because no one actually believed that  _ he _ did it. They all knew it was me; they just couldn’t prove it with him lying to protect me. Only, that false confession was his idea, his inspiration. Not mine. I open my mouth to argue, but Peeta speaks before I can get a word out of my mouth. 

 

“Anyways, I can’t take a single one of them seriously, which leaves me with no viable suspects and no murder weapon.”

 

I glance back at Madge as her laughter tinkles through the evening air. I still can’t out her to Peeta. I still can’t plant the seed of doubt in his mind that would lead to him investigating her in depth, not after the entire town rallied behind us both like this. And Peeta, always so good at heart, would be honor bound to do it. So she was wrong. There’s one last thing I have to do to protect her. And that’s to keep my silence and probably lose Peeta for it.

 

“So what are you going to do?” I ask him. 

 

“I don’t know just yet,” he says with a shrug. “But it means that you’re no longer under suspicion and are free to leave town any time you please.”

 

“That’s good news, right?” I say, trying to smile, feeling better about the whole going to jail thing than I have all week long. but he shakes his head and opens his car door.

 

“Yeah, it’s good news. I’ll let you return to your party, ma’am. Need to get back to the station to deal with some paperwork,” he says as he climbs in, shutting the car door between us before he drives away from me. 


	25. Chapter 25

“I’ll have a  _ Heads Will Roll _ in whatever the owner of this fine establishment usually drinks.” The twang of home makes me snap my head up from the paperwork I was looking over and stop rubbing my pounding temple as I stare across the counter of Daily Fix in disbelief. 

 

She’s a day early. I contain my squeal but still rush to hug Madge. She looks amazing. Fresh as morning dew and free as a bird. Even more beautiful than she was in our youth.

 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” I breathe. It’s been a little under two months since I left Twelve Willows to return to Philadelphia. I stuck around for a few more days after Madge’s town meeting to make sure she’d be okay, but eventually I realized that she didn’t need me anymore, especially since there were no moves to investigate her or delve deeper into Brigham’s death after the flood of confessions. Besides, I needed to get back to Daily Fix, to work out the remaining kinks in my franchise deals. And staying there had become too painful.

 

“I know! I’m so excited!” she says. I hold onto her a little longer than is probably necessary, but I've missed my friend so much. Eventually, she manages to pry my arms off of her and smile. “Now give me my coffee, woman.”

 

“You’re just in time, we’re about to close, so you’re the last customer of the day,” I tell her and fix her drink for her. We catch up as I close up the shop and text Johanna to let her know our visitor is here early. I review all of the things Madge wants to do while she’s here with us in Philadelphia. She covers all the latest news of Twelve Willows, with one glaring exception. 

 

When we reach my apartment, Madge hands me her suitcase and grabs a box from her trunk. Johanna materializes to grab Madge’s tote bag.

 

“What’d I miss, ladies?” she asks and presses a cheek to Madge’s. My sweet friend blushes a little and I wonder briefly if there was more than just friendship blooming in that big house in Twelve Willows. I know Madge and Johanna have kept in touch, but there appears to be a new level of closeness between them that I can’t account for.

 

Madge repeats the gossip for Jo as we walk up the stairs and drop Madge’s luggage in my spare bedroom. We head to the kitchen and break out the wine.

 

“So what’s tonight’s word?” I ask as I pour out a glass for everyone.

 

“How about  _ Hot Buns _ ?” Madge asks and I glare at her. I thought she understood that this topic was off limits. She snatches her wine from me and smiles.

 

“You couldn’t even give me an hour?” I say and she shrugs. 

 

“Just trying to see if you've had a run in with a hungry zombie or if this is just your Philadelphia personality,” Madge says innocently.

 

“God it's been awful. She's been duller than a narcoleptic at a rave,” Johanna says and I glare at her.

 

“Has she tried a one night stand?” Madge asks and Jo chortles.

 

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

 

“Hello. Standing right here. And I don't need a one night stand. Or have you two forgotten the last random sex you shoved me into and how well that turned out?”

 

“I think she almost choked when she said ‘random.’ Did you hear that, Angel?”

 

“Mhmm.  _ Hot.  _ Buns,” she stresses and I realize that I have been cornered into some kind of intervention. Again.

 

“I am a grown ass woman and do not need you two playing hero,” I insist as they both take a drink and wait until I take one too. Now that the door is open, though, I can’t seem to shut up. “He didn’t want me to stay. Practically told me to get the hell out of town as soon as possible.”

 

“Why, for fuck’s sake, would he ask you to stay after he declared his love for you and was met with silence?” Johanna asks and stares me down over her wine.

 

“I am not drunk enough for this conversation. Hot buns hot buns hot buns,” I mutter and start chugging the wine. I cough when my glass is drained, my eyes watering. Not crying. I am done crying, okay?

 

“Okay, we won’t talk about it,” Madge says and slides her wine glass off to the side before grabbing the box she carried in and plunking it down in front of me. “We’ll look instead.”

 

“What the fuck is that?” I snarl. I know exactly what it is, now that I’m getting a good look at it. It’s the present from Peeta that I refused to open and ordered Madge to throw away. She’s such a great friend.

 

“I sold the house,” she explains. “When I was cleaning out closets and packing, I found this. Thought you might want it.”

 

“I don’t want it,” I snap, hysterical now that my carefully held veneer of indifference that I have honed and polished for the past one month, three weeks, and five days is at risk of shattering into a million pieces.

 

“Yes, you do,” Madge says quietly. Soothingly. “Just open the gift, Katniss.”

 

“Fine,” I hiss and she smiles gleefully. “I’ll open it, but only so you two shut up and I can burn the contents because it doesn’t matter anyways. I’m over him. Got that?”

 

“Got it. You’re totally over him.” 

 

Madge dances in her chair with a sly smile as I tear into the box and pull out the first object I grab. It’s wrapped in plain newsprint paper and I unroll it until a mug falls into my hands. And not just any mug. It’s blue and white, hand painted with mountain lions prowling the rim. I flip it over and squeeze my eyes shut after I read:  _ Nittany Lion Swag - State College, PA. _

 

“Keep going, hot buns,” Madge says and takes another sip of her wine in unison with Johanna.

 

A pattern of overlapping arches and their shadows in silver, green, red, and brown...  _ Serendipity Gifts - St. Louis, MO _ . Scattered, brightly colored gambling chips on a dark green background…  _ Wish You Were Here - Las Vegas, NV. _

 

“Oh, that must be from the bachelor party he went to last year for a buddy of his from college,” Madge explains.

 

I keep pulling out mugs until there’s about nine of them on my counter, each of them with a different story provided by Madge.

 

“Holy shit, Brainless,” Johanna says. “He bought you mugs for Daily Fix everywhere he went and held onto them for ten years?” 

 

“I don’t know that he ever planned on giving them to you until you returned to town,” Madge says, laying a hand over mine and squeezing. “But he bought them, thinking about you, and then never used them. It’s kind of sweet.”

 

“No, it’s not!” I protest and pull out the next mug, afraid of what I’ll find. As soon as the paper falls away, I lose it. Sniffling and sobbing, showing them the mug, unable to explain why this is the worst gift ever.

 

Johanna takes the mug from me, examining the field of bright yellow dandelions and showing it to Madge, who shrugs and shakes her head in confusion. Jo flips the mug over and tells me what I already know. “There’s no store name or location on this one.”

 

“That’s because  _ he _ painted the damn thing!” I shout through my tears. I tear off the paper from the last two mugs and wail louder. The moon gleaming in a night sky speckled with stars on one of them, but the last one is what makes me cry the most. It’s my woods. He painted my woods onto a mug for my coffee shop.  _ Twelve Willows, WV  _ on the bottom. How in the fuck am I supposed to get over someone who’s given me such a perfect gift? And oh god, he planned on giving it to me the morning the fucking roses showed up from David Marvel. No wonder Peeta was so upset over that. Ten dozen roses versus one dozen mugs. But to me, there’s no comparison between the two gifts.

 

“Why are you crying if you’re over him?” Madge asks as she examines my woods. I snatch the mug out of her hands and hold it to my chest.

 

“Because I’m not!” I yell.

 

“Never woulda guessed,” Jo says and I scowl at her, ready to flay her alive, but Madge distracts me.

 

“So what are you going to do about it?” Madge asks.

 

“Nothing! I screwed it up! He’ll never forgive me or want me again.”

 

“This is not the handiwork of someone who stops loving you after one tiny little fight,” Madge says and shoves the dandelion mug under my nose. 

 

“I hate that town,” I remind her.

 

“After all that the nice people of Twelve Willows did for you?” Madge asks teasingly.

 

“Oh sure, they’re nice  _ now _ . But all I have to do is set one toe out of line and they’ll be back to hating me and thinking I’m corrupting them all,” I protest.

 

“Oh please, they wouldn’t dare with your strong, stocky, and hot as fuck sheriff protecting you,” Johanna scoffs.

 

“I think you should give them a chance first,” Madge suggests. “Don’t you think most of us deserve a second chance? Including you?”

 

I hate it when she says shit like that.

 

“Has it occurred to you that he didn’t ask you to stay because he didn’t want to tie you down or make you feel trapped?” Madge asks when I stay silent. “He knew as much as everyone else, just how eager you were to get out of there.”

 

“Maybe you still dislike parts of Twelve Willows, but Katniss, this isn’t your home anymore,” Johanna says, and it’s her calm tone and complete lack of sarcasm that snares my attention and forces me to acknowledge her words. “I didn’t believe it until I got my ass in the car and drove all the way to the middle of bum-fuck nowhere West Virginia and saw you come to life with my own two gorgeous eyes. I tried to deny it still, but you haven’t referred to Philadelphia as ‘home’ in nearly two months. And since we got back here, you’ve been this miserable zombie who just sort of goes through the motions without really living. You've shown more signs of life in the last ten minutes than the entire rest of the time since we left that town.”

 

I want to deny it, but I can't. I should've been ecstatic to get out of that place where there's no room to grow, but she's right. Ever since I got back here, everything I once thought I cared about has lost some of its appeal. I seem to be missing something, but refused to put a name to the thing. “But my life is here. Daily Fix is here. I can’t just leave it all behind! What am I supposed to do? Trust someone else to run it?”

 

“Christ, Katniss. What do you think you’re doing by franchising? Other people are going to be running Daily Fixes all over the country. No one said you couldn’t ever travel to check on them, but you can’t be at every location all the time. You’re going to have to hire the right people and trust them. And give me  _ some _ credit, would you? I could run that place better than you any day of the week,” Johanna says with a mighty roll of her eyes.

 

“Didn’t you tell me that you get to pick the first new location? Isn’t that something you negotiated into the contract when you got back here?” Madge asks.

 

“Yes, and then my board of investors picks the next two by vote amongst them,” I say, not sure where she’s going with this.

 

“So choose Twelve Willows. The model would fit perfectly. The town is growing with the spa and the summer camp they’re building on the lake. Thom Buckley brought in most of his extended family and now there’s a fully organic farm complete with a weekly farmers market. They’ll love it there, and you’ve already got a decent customer base.”

 

“That’s actually a great idea,” Jo says.

 

“It’s a terrible idea,” I protest weakly. I’m running out of arguments and Madge knows it because she levels me with her  _ Now you’re just being stubborn, Katniss _ look, and she’s rarely ever been wrong when she gives me that look. Damnit.

 

“When have I ever had a bad idea?” she asks.

 

“Only all the time,” I mutter pathetically and she smiles.

  
“Go fight for what you want, Katniss. You’ll never know if you just sit here and don’t fight for it. You taught me that. Now go show me you still believe it, too.”


	26. Chapter 26

I stop my car two miles out of town and climb out to pace up and down, shaking my hands at my sides and trying to pluck up my courage. I’ve had five hours of driving to think about what I’m going to say to him. All night long when I couldn’t sleep. Several hours last night of wine drinking and packing and two very drunk and unhelpful friends who suggested everything from grovelling to serenading him to Jo’s plan of just stripping naked in front of him. Why am I friends with them again?

 

I’ve almost convinced myself that I was right last night and he’s probably already moved on, fallen into the comforting arms of Delly Cartwright and forgotten all about me, when a truck drives by me and stops, backs up to where I am. The window rolls down and speak of the devil, Delly Cartwright leans out and greets me.

 

“Katniss? Are you back for a visit already?” I should answer, but I’m too busy staring at the massive diamond on her left hand. A man leans forward in the driver seat to speak to me around her.

 

“Afternoon, Miss Everdeen. I hope there’s no hard feelings about me tasing you,” Thom Buckley says and I nearly laugh, because he’s got lipstick the same exact shade as Delly’s mouth smeared all over his neck and cheek. Her mother only sees what she wants to see and not what’s really there. Like the fact that Delly was apparently interested in the deputy and not the sheriff.

 

“No hard feelings, Thom.”

 

“Glad to hear it. How long are you staying this time?”

 

“No idea,” I tell them. They toss hopes that I have a good visit through the window and then drive off, leaving me to climb into my car, feeling slightly braver about what I’m about to do. I pause with one foot in the door and look around me, listen to the woods that line the road as they come back to life. Calm washes over me. This feels oddly right, and it is that feeling of rightness that propels me the rest of the way into town.

 

It’s a Saturday, so I head straight for the bakery. I’ll probably catch flack from my mother later for not immediately telling her that I’m back in town...again, but I’m hoping the results will diffuse her anger.

 

Once my car is parked, I grab my box and march right up to the door. I thought about warning him that I was coming to see him, but Johanna insisted that a surprise attack was best, to prevent him from running or hiding before I got a chance to grovel a little. The part of me that’s still not as brave as I could wish, that still thinks he won’t want to have anything to do with me, went along with her suggestion.

 

The windows are open again and I can hear his music. Since the door is propped open as well, I don’t bother knocking and head straight in. The walls are up, the lighting is hung, and counters installed -- currently covered in tarps to protect them from paint. He’s been busy the past month and a half or so. But my eyes are drawn irrevocably to the man standing on a ladder, painting a mural of the mountains at sunrise and blanketed in a layer of fog. One paintbrush in his left hand and another caught in his teeth, his blue eyes staring at me. As I drink him in, he slowly lowers his left hand from the wall and removes the second paintbrush from his mouth. 

 

He looks good. Amazingly so. His eyes are clear and bright, if a little wary, like he hasn’t bothered to be upset over my absence, and it only brings my fears tumbling back to the surface. Because I realize now as I’m looking at him that I missed him so much it aches deep inside me. It feels suspiciously like homesickness and homecoming all rolled into one.

 

“Sorry, ma’am. We’re not open yet. And we don’t have any coffee,” he says in a flat tone. Well, I’ve come this far. Might as well see it through to the end.

 

“That’s actually what I came to see you about,” I say and spin around to set my box on the edge of one of the tarp covered counters. I pull out and set up a small chalkboard with the drink menu I threw together last night while I was running on wine and heartache. Then out comes my binder with my business plans for the first franchise, hasty scribbles written in the margins, adjustments to make it work for a partially constructed location in Twelve Willows, West Virginia.

 

“I happen to run a coffee shop that is looking to branch out. To franchise. And what goes with cakes better than coffee?” I turn around to face him just as he’s stepping off the ladder and shoving his hands in his pockets.

 

“Sounds like a pretty good pairing to me, but I suppose some people would disagree.”

 

“Then they’re scared or blind or maybe both,” I say. “I’m going with mostly scared because it’s not exactly easy working your whole life for the perfect cup of coffee only to realize it’s no good on its own. I mean, some people would put tea with their cakes instead.”

 

Peeta lifts one eyebrow at me and then shakes his head. “Katniss, could you please just get to the point?”

 

“I get to pick the location of the first Daily Fix franchise. You need a drink menu for your bakery and I happen to have a great one already in place. And I noticed there's nowhere to get a decent coffee around here, so we'd basically have a corner on that market.”

 

“You came all the way back here to make a business deal?” he asks, scrubbing a hand up and down the back of his head, messing up his hair. “Why here? Why not any other podunk town in West Virginia or Pennsylvania that doesn't have a decent coffee place? You'd have no competition there either.”

 

“They don't have what I’m looking for in a partnership. You do,” I blurt out and his eyes go wide. And this is where I stall, because I'm no good at this. “The bakery’s coming along nicely. So how’s your day job going?”

 

I almost kick myself for bringing it up, but Peeta shrugs. “Guess you left so soon after we closed the case that you didn’t hear the details. Final ruling was that Brigham’s death was an accident.”

 

“How is that possible?” I ask, holding my breath because this is something that Madge didn’t tell me, and I don’t understand why not.

 

“Too many conflicting stories, no reliable witnesses, no murder weapon, left us with no real suspects.”

 

“Oh,” I mumble.

 

“Did you know they had a sprinkler system put in last year? Right before winter set in and man did Miles Birch give me an earful about how that was a terrible idea. Apparently he told Brigham that several times, but he did it anyways because it was for the mayor. Anyways, turns out there was a brief power surge that day, messed with the clock on the sprinkler system timer. Damn thing went off at one in the morning instead of five. Brigham must’ve slipped on the wet grass, hit his head on one of their landscaping stones and managed to drag himself across the yard before passing out. Then the blood loss and trauma to his brain eventually killed him.”

 

“Seems a bit far fetched,” I say and want to smack myself, because he  _ knows _ it’s far fetched and yet he doesn’t seem angry or upset about it and would’ve had to sign off on changing the initial ruling and replacing it with the lie-filled story without any real evidence to back it up. Risking his job once more to protect Madge. And me. And I wonder if he would’ve concocted this accident storyline even if I’d been open with him and told him the truth about Brigham’s death. The speed with which he closed the case makes me think he might have. And it’s then that I realize just how wrong I’ve been about Peeta. What he meant when he told me he couldn’t protect us if we didn’t trust him. If I didn’t trust him.

 

I’d been operating on the assumption that Peeta would follow the letter of the law, live by the rules, rather than recognizing that the boy who lied about setting fire to a chemistry lab and took a beating from his mother as a consequence to protect me just might’ve grown into the man who would lie about a murder and risk lawsuits or jail time or the town’s distrust and hatred to protect me again. That maybe he only wanted the truth to help him make the lies more convincing, or to know that it was the right thing, if not the legal or honest one, to do. To make sure it was Madge or me he was taking risks to protect rather than some unknown killer. Or just because he wanted me to trust him. Because that’s what you do when you love someone.

 

“No more far-fetched than him dying because of a poisoned strawberry pie,” he says and his lips twitch in the first signs of a smile.

 

“She’s happy, Peeta. She’s happy and she’s free. Isn’t that what we both wanted?” I ask and he nods. 

 

“We probably could’ve put together a good case for self-defense, but the people of Twelve Willows made it clear. This is one mystery we didn’t want to see solved.”

 

“Are you okay with that? You’re not worried about losing your job?”

 

“No one’s come forward demanding I step down so far, not even the new mayor. Although I don’t think I’ll run for reelection. It would feel...dishonest. I still have this, though,” he says, looking around the bakery, which brings us back to my proposal.

 

“So, about my franchise idea,” I say and Peeta shakes his head.

 

“Thanks, but it’s not a good idea, Katniss. I’m not looking to get burned again.”

 

“Well maybe you shouldn’t drink your coffee that fast. Sometimes you have to give it time to cool down a little and figure out what it wants,” I blurt out and now his lips really are trying not to smile. He takes a single step towards me.

 

“Fair point. But how am I supposed to know when it’s the right temperature to drink if it isn’t honest with me and doesn’t give me some sort of sign?” he says and my heart flips over.

 

“Trust me the way I trust you,” I murmur. 

 

“Do you trust me? Because you didn’t before. And I know most of what you kept from me was to protect Madge, and that’s one of the things that I love about you. That you’d do literally anything to protect the ones you love. So it wasn’t entirely fair of me to expect you to be completely open with me, but I’ve been wondering why you couldn’t trust that I’d do the same?”

 

“I do now,” I whisper and he takes another step towards me. I could almost touch him if I reached out right now. 

 

“So how does this work? You stick around long enough to see a section of the bakery turned into a Daily Fix, train up some workers, and then disappear to another city to set up a franchise there?”

 

“Well that depends,” I say and decide it’s time to take my own step towards him as my pulse picks up a frantic pace.

 

“On what?”

 

“If you’re still serious about us. Because I am.”

 

“I never stopped being serious about us, Katniss. I was just hurt and confused,” he steps again, bringing our toes together and bending his head over mine. I feel a magnetic pull towards him and I have to hold myself back from throwing my arms around him and kissing us both into oblivion. “Did you only come back here to make a business deal?”

 

“I meant what I said about the business deal, but that was also my excuse to get in the door without you slapping handcuffs on me or tossing me right back out.” He ducks his head to hide his smile, but I catch a flash of his dimple. “Honestly, I came back to ask you out on a couple dozen dates. I’m thinking ten.”

 

“Ten dozen dates. Couldn’t that be considered a conflict of interest? Dating a business partner?”

 

“No more than the town sheriff making the leading suspect in a murder investigation fall in love with him,” I say. He releases a ragged breath and reaches for me at the same time I finally give in and wrap my arms around his neck.

  
He rests his forehead on mine and he holds me close for a moment while I just enjoy being engulfed in his arms again, the warmth of his steady embrace and the scent of toasted cinnamon and now paint. Even before he tips my head back to kiss me, I know I’ve finally come home.


	27. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

 

“Do you think they’ll serve pie?”

 

“Don’t eat the strawberry if they do. Just to be safe.” I smother my laughter at this and lean back against the trunk of the apple tree I scaled half an hour ago, the speakers below me unaware of my presence.

 

The funny thing about gossip and scandal is that it’s a stupid, fickle thing. Two years after I returned to Twelve Willows to propose a joint Daily Fix and bakery franchise to Peeta and ask him out for real, so much has already changed, and yet so much remains the same. 

 

While I had once been certain that the sheriff and the suspect to the murder that didn’t happen being together would provide the scandal of the decade in Twelve Willows, we were upstaged when, after a year of scattered traveling around the country with the funds from the sale of her and Brigham’s house, Madge packed up her bags once more and ran away to Philadelphia. To move in with her girlfriend, a raging bitch who needs her coffee as much as I do. 

 

Together, Madge and Johanna run the original Daily Fix and I couldn’t be happier for them. It took some time for Madge to work up the courage to do it. She was not only healing from the mess Brigham made, but also coming to terms with a piece of her identity that she smothered, hid, and doubted while she lived here. They still visit as frequent customers at the lakeside spa, always spending a few days catching up with friends and family while they’re here.

 

During the next round of elections, Twelve Willows voted in Mayor Maysilee Donner, and even though he put up some resistance to the idea of running again, the town petitioned for him and eventually re-elected Peeta as their sheriff. I wasn’t surprised in the least by either result. 

 

The story of Brigham’s death approached legend in the town -- hence the comment about strawberry pie beneath my tree -- shared almost as often over coffee and cake or chilled alcohol as the tale of two girls who dance naked for the moon and scare the living daylights out of Haymitch Abernathy every spring. But like all gossip and speculation, the story is never quite the same from one telling to the next, and never completely accurate, depending on who’s telling it and which way the wind is blowing that day.

 

Over the past two years, I’ve kept busy traveling, with Peeta when he can get away from his desk, and overseeing the openings of Daily Fixes throughout the country, all of them now also serving a selection of Peeta’s fresh baked goods and featuring his paintings on many of the dishes and the walls, but the one here in Twelve Willows holds a special place in my heart as it is the only full-up bakery and coffee shop. Peeta and I spent the months finishing it up and prepping it for opening, growing back together, discovering that cakes and coffee really do make a perfect pairing. Which brings me to today.

 

“Never figured Katniss Everdeen for a fancy wedding with swans on the lawn.”

 

“Those were geese, and I’m pretty sure they wandered over here because Haymitch’s fence got busted last night. He says there were two people in his pasture, engaged in _ intimate acts _ , but he was probably drunk again and mistook cows for people.”

 

A small laugh escapes me at this one because Peeta and I really did break the fence between my mother’s land and Haymitch’s last night. We had only meant to take a walk and watch the sunset over the valley, but as often happens around him, I acted out on my impulses. I blame Peeta’s dimples and excessive hotness. We planned on fixing the fence, but we’ve been a little busy today. We’ll get to it tomorrow. Maybe. 

 

My entire family and all of my closest friends, plus most of the town of Twelve Willows, descended on my mother’s house for the event. Prim came home from her residency, Madge and Johanna from Philly, and even my dad managed to make the trip. With all those people making demands on my time, the party got a little overwhelming, and now, I’m up in this tree to steal a few moments of quiet for myself before rejoining the crowd. I enjoy the sunshine for a few more minutes after the guests finally wander away from my tree, until I hear a soft whistle below me. I shift to look down and infinite calm washes over me.

 

“Heard there’s a wedding around here missing it’s bride,” Peeta calls up to me. “Think I should send out a search party?”

 

“No need,” I say with a grin. “She’d have to be an idiot to skip out if the groom’s half as handsome as you.”

 

I shift in the tree and wrap my limbs around a thick branch before hanging upside down in front of him. He laughs, cupping the back of my head in his hand and kissing me until my toes tingle and I am in danger of having him against this tree. 

 

“What are you planning?” he asks, eyeing me skeptically as our lips part. Oh, he knows me too well. I untangle my limbs and Peeta catches me, setting me on my feet and brushing escaped hair back out of my face.

 

“A little public indecency,” I whisper and start pushing him away from my mother’s house and the party going on there.

 

“We have guests,” he says, but he’s not fighting me. He bends his head and kisses my shoulder as I tremble with sudden need.

 

“They can wait. Besides, they’re all expecting at least one crazy thing to happen at this wedding to give them something to talk about.”

 

“The stray geese wandering in and disrupting the vows during that one crucial moment wasn’t enough?” he asks as we round a thick oak that will shelter us from view.

 

“Nah, that was just bizarre luck,” I say through my laughter. Apparently, Haymitch’s geese object to our marriage and the entire town thought that was a riot. “I’m thinking lipstick on your collar and straw in my hair,” I say as he groans at my suggestion.

 

“Where are we gonna find straw? And you’re not wearing lipstick,” he whispers to my neck and starts kissing me there while he lifts the layers of creamy chiffon up my legs. His lips and fingertips grazing my skin send shivers of delight through me.

 

“Oh well, I’ll just have to settle for sex hair and skewed clothing,” I say and grip his curls, tugging on them when his fingers move my panties aside so he can touch me. I hike one leg up over his hip and he bends his knee to support that leg as I lean back against the tree. I have to bite my lip so I don’t moan too loudly and draw attention to us before I’m done, but his fingers move swift and sure, bringing me right to the edge fast enough to make me dizzy and breathless.

 

“Peeta, I need you,” I breathe my plea as he holds me steady with one hand and reaches for his zipper with the other. I wrap my other leg around him and kiss along his jaw, urging him to hurry. We both sigh as he slides inside me, and I hold onto his shoulders for dear life as he moves between my legs. We hear voices calling out from the house, clearly looking for someone. Probably us.

 

I ignore the voices and the bite of the tree bark as it digs into my back. Peeta drops his hand between us, his thumb drawing quick circles over my clit as I bite his shoulder to keep from making any noise. Lifting his head, Peeta kisses me once on the temple and then murmurs to me about how badly he needs to feel me come on him again and again. Now, later tonight, tomorrow and every day for the rest of our lives. He orders me to look at him, and when I do, his eyes hold me as pinned to the tree as his body and his arms do. It’s when he’s whispering that he loves me that my body quakes with the beginnings of my release. I tug frantically on his hair to get him to kiss me and silence the sounds I make as he buries himself in me and gently rocks his hips to draw out our release. We cling to one another, sharing our moans as we come together.

 

For a moment, we remain there, shaking limbs and haggard breaths. I drop my head to his shoulder and he pants over my neck as we listen to the distant sounds of merriment. When I can open my eyes and lift my head again, Peeta’s watching me, blue eyes dark with the trailing ends of need. 

 

“Was that enough of a distraction from the small talk for you?” he teases and sets my feet back on solid ground. 

 

“Just what I needed,” I say as he adjusts himself before helping me clean up and straighten my dress. I don’t mention the wet patch on his vest where I bit him, or the disarray of his hair just at the back of his head.

 

He kisses me and smiles, taking my hand in his before leading me towards the house. Just before we reach the back porch, he leans over and whispers in my ear. “I want you to ride my face in that dress when everyone’s gone. Ride it until your juices run down my cheeks and my chin.”

 

I blush and need flutters to life anew inside of me. I’m about ten seconds from announcing that the party is over and ordering everyone to return to their homes when my mother spots me and shouts.

 

“Katniss Maureen Everdeen! Have you been climbing trees in your  _ wedding dress _ ?” My eyes shoot over to Peeta’s and he laughingly plucks a leaf and an apple blossom from my hair, twirling them in front of my face for me to see.

 

“Did you know that was there the whole time?” I hiss and he grins devilishly, bringing out those stupid dimples. 

 

“I swear, I labor for thirty-five hours to bring you into this world, and you can’t even behave like a lady for one hour at your own wedding?”

 

I roll my eyes and lean into Peeta as he kisses the top of my head and takes a deep breath. I smile, thinking about how I’ve started using the honeysuckle scented, herbal shampoo my mother makes again, not caring how much trouble I’m in with her. I have a sheriff to seduce and distract with lots of love, and a lifetime in which to do it.


End file.
